


Guardian Angel

by TheBunnyFluffz



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Gay John Laurens, Guardian Angel AU, Historical Inaccuracy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 46,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBunnyFluffz/pseuds/TheBunnyFluffz
Summary: After John Laurens dies during the war he finds himself as a ghost, unable to interact with anyone save for Alexander Hamilton's oldest son. And so he takes the role of Philip's imaginary friend and decides to make the most of his second chance._______________________Essentially a story that chronologizes and recounts the events of Philip's life growing up, but this time with John Laurens as his guide (as well as some creative liberties). Philip ends up helping John just as much as he helps Philip. It's a way of taking the stories of these two poor boys who deserved better and smacking more idealistic and heartwarming closure onto them. Rated T for swearing and a couple heavy topics.Also - just as a note - the characters (as well as the plot) are based off of the musical interpretations both in personality and appearance. I just find them fun and colorful to work with.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Theodosia Burr Alston/Philip Hamilton
Comments: 135
Kudos: 144





	1. Like a Candleflame

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post, and I wrote this primarily as a comfort fic so there will be some inaccuracies here and there. Expect lots of musical references, cute stuff, John pining, and Philip being precious!
> 
> Will be updating weekly, loosely.

It was a long night, though a longer night still for the Hamiltons, Laurens supposed, punctuated incessantly by the cries of their newest born child.

Even though Laurens swore he spent the night in a delusional daze, he'd managed to gather a few important details:

For one, the child, not much more than a few months of age, was named Philip. 

And two, Alex -- er, Hamilton -- would tend to stand aside while Eliza took on the job of calming their child, cooing gently with Philip in her arms, with just about all the grace and care that was even fathomable. 

Laurens knew a weak lopsided smile crept upon his lips from where he stood at the edge of the room, and knew, with that all-too-familiar twisting feeling in his gut, that Eliza was the perfect wife, perfect mother. She was everything Hamilton deserved.

Hamilton. Well. For three, Hamilton was still trying to fit into his shoes as a father. Laurens recognized this with his hands pressed somewhat achingly against his own heart. Clumsily marching face-first into his path, with little shred of inhibition, planning mercilessly on the fly and led only by that fond passion glimmering like a flame in his eyes -- oh, nothing had changed of Alex, nothing at all.

Laurens removed his hands from where they rested against his chest and bit back a scoff, averting his gaze. And clearly nothing had changed of himself either, getting lost in such shameful tangents. At least the other two were not around to pry into it with such a sly teasing manner like they typically did. He didn't need more- he didn't need ANYONE trying so hard to claw away at what Laurens was already struggling to keep locked up inside of him.

...although... he wouldn't have minded the company. Because as close as he was to Alexa-- Hamilton and Eliza, the biggest thing he noticed was that they weren't aware of his presence.

At all.

He could shout, scream, whisper, he could reach out to them, but there was no reaction, and he would only phase through them as if they were merely illusions.

And as the room began to quiet, the lights seeming dimmer than before, Laurens slid down defeatedly against the wall, his dull eyes following Hamilton out the room, and for the first time that night he looked at his hands and forced himself, painfully, to confront it.

Yes. 

He was dead.

A gross taste filled his mouth as he remembered that night. The battlefield was ripped apart by bombshells, gunshots, and those earsplitting screams that send jolting shivers down your spine. And the grass-- speckled crimson, and beaten and battered under frenzied footsteps, it smelled like mud and it tasted of metal. It all used to scare Laurens, but every soldier comes to zone it out, tune in only on their general's barked commands. Eventually.

But as much experience as Laurens had on the field, he didn't think anything quite prepared him for the sharp pain that hit him suddenly, sending his head spinning into a ringing daze before all had turned to a blur, and then to black.

Then quiet. No screams or gunshots. No dark crimson stains or muddy footprints.

No beat, no melody.

When someone dies, Laurens imagines, they should be overcome with the regrets of their past life. The things they couldn't let go of, the things they could've done better, the what if's. Laurens stifled a chuckle, his dim eyes still flitting about the room. 

He harbored none.

It wasn't that he were content with the pathetic dirtied bundle of bad choices he called his life, no, quite the opposite. But he preferred not to dwell on it. Here, now, he found himself feeling a distinct sense of detachment. His pains, and his fears, all those drunken nights, it was rather freeing to be able to leave them behind.

He couldn't let go of his identity, though, and with resentment found that same warm and horrifying feeling festering within him whenever he laid eyes upon his old friend.

Damned Alexander Hamilton. Alexander... Alex.

No more dodging, he supposed, the fond old nickname just rolled off his tongue better.

Of all things, that feeling was what Laurens hoped to leave behind the most. He hated it, as much as he recognized Alex's contentment in his new family, and that child who shared his passionate eyes. He felt it in the disappointment of his father and the judgmental gaze of his friends, which constricted his heart until breathing became painful. 

He heard them. Laurens swore they could see even if they did not talk. And he heard them. It was disgusting. He had no right to feel so.

If there were a God -- Laurens severely doubted so, because perhaps he wouldn't have fallen into the life of a revolting sinful nobody otherwise -- he didn't understand them, despised them, because the afterlife granted him not heaven nor hell, but what felt like an eternity under that choking feeling he was forced to confront every time he looked at Alex.

Then again maybe he deserved it.

Yes... a brutally subtle form of punishment. Laurens should have seen earlier.

Though as he stood carefully, dusted off the ends of his coat (although no dust had gathered there), and took a few careful steps towards Philip's crib where he lay in peaceful slumber, Laurens understood that were not all the pieces of the puzzle and he had left out how--

Philip's eyes fluttered open. Peeking over his puffy freckled cheeks, they rested upon Laurens, and Laurens watched him begin to babble very quietly.

Laurens let a small smile crease his face. He offered his hand, pale against the candlelight, and watched with wistful fondness as Philip reached for his fingers and phased soundlessly through them.

A quick learner... much smoother than the first time Philip saw Laurens, when the child simply burst into startled tears.

Laurens sat gingerly by Philip's crib, withdrawing his hand despite Philip's soft protests. It was a delightfully heart-aching feeling, watching Philip grow more fond of him, but Laurens restrained from indulging. The child needed rest.

The child who could... see him. Even though he was dead.

Philip was... the one thing Laurens had any sway over, and in Philip's eyes, like Alex's, he saw a million opportunities. An unwavering strength and a hunger to prove himself. A million wrongs, a million rights, and in all that, Laurens couldn't help but feel -- like a blind intuition -- that he could... help Philip.

He closed his eyes. His responsibility. A way to redeem himself. Like a guide, a protector, a... guardian angel, of sorts.

Laurens opened his eyes and fully took in the sight of Philip Hamilton, bliss in his unconscious sleep, like a candleflame in the dark of the room. That purpose settled in Laurens's conscience, neatly made its home, relieving him of those old fears of judgment and punishment.

He would be Philip's guardian angel.


	2. The Greatest Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is forced to confront the news of Laurens's death. Both he and Laurens struggle to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize a slight paradox here in that, following last chapter, there is probably no possible way that Philip would be old enough to form coherent sentences by the time the letter from South Carolina reaches Alexander... sooo if you maybe don't mind, lemme stretch some suspension of disbelief? I just had to make Philip talk, it was too cute to resist!
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy!

It was a long while since Laurens's arrival when news of his death had reached Hamilton.

It was a sight Laurens did not wish to dwell on. So a friend had passed; enter a few weeks or so of grieving and then move on. Laurens was not the only victim of the war after all. He didn't wish for his death to be acknowledged any more than was necessary.

So when he found Alex desperately quivering at the letter from South Carolina, as if Laurens's death were the greatest wound of the war, it was an understatement to say Laurens was shaken.

"Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens was... killed, in a gunfight against British troops in South Carolina."

Eliza spoke quietly and carefully as she read the words, which each settled into the room chillingly as if nothing more than a whisper. Laurens found himself stiffened, eyes darting with alarm towards Alex's disheveled frame from where he stood aside. He was glad Philip was asleep.

"These troops had not yet received word from Yorktown that the war was over."

The war... yes, the war was over. Months of toil, of pleading for a command, it was over, and they had won. So why, Laurens begged desperately, _why_ did Alex's eyes have to quiver so fearfully and searchingly like that?! As if he was waiting for Eliza to admit it were all a joke. As if a light in him were flickering, about to go out.

 _No,_ pleaded Laurens wide-eyed as he stepped apprehensively towards Alex, reached out with stiff fingers, _don't let that light of yours go out, I beg you Alex, how it has been burning so brightly throughout these years -- don't let it be me who undoes your fortitude, please..._

"...Alexander... are you alright?" Eliza's concerned eyes glimmered sorrowfully.

Alex closed his eyes and exhaled quietly. And Laurens felt it was too late.

"I..."

Laurens flinched, rested a hand upon Alexander's wrist, noticed Alex's fingers weakly twitch despite Laurens being only an apparition.

Then Alex pulled away.

His voice was a shadow.

"I have so much work to do."

And then he was gone.

After a few moments, Eliza followed.

Laurens lingered quietly by the bed where Philip lay. He didn't know how to feel, in the shadow of where Alex once stood.

That dull look in Alex's eyes was unmistakable. And Laurens might have been irritated by the lack of care, had he not known better, because Alex's work was a coping mechanism. He had always retreated to his study when he did not want to confront something.

And Laurens turned out to be right.

Alexander did not talk to anyone the following three days. Not even his dear Eliza. He was barely even seen, and the few times he peeked out from his piles of work his eyes were dull, devoid of fire, weighed down. And it was all Laurens's fault.

He sat by where Philip slumbered, on one of those heavy, dull nights and felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his stomach.

...well. He supposed he had not chosen to die, and of course any good friend of his should grieve so, but had he seen that look in Alexander's eye maybe he would not have welcomed it so much.

Although...

He cocked his head as he looked to Philip, and considered quietly. A new end and a new beginning. It was almost poetic.

He had taken something from Alex that he could never give back. But upon Philip's birth a new hope was born, one that perhaps should fill the hole that was left. To some extent. Laurens sighed fondly.

Philip would live. He would make his father proud. Laurens would make sure of that, and he would see that flame in Alex once more.

As if by cue, Philip mumbled quietly and his eyes opened to rest meekly on Laurens.

Laurens gave a small wave.

"Ja... ck... Jackie," Philip spoke in a dreary whisper, before stifling a yawn.

"You ought to be resting, young man." came Laurens's soft-voiced reply, warm with amusement.

Philip mumbled in protest. "Not tired." He sat up. His gaze turned youthful and curious. "Daddy should be here to wake me up. Where's Daddy?"

Laurens tilted his head. "...Where he always is."

"Mmm... Jackie... he never leaves there. _Always_ sad 'bout something..." Philip gave a quiet whimper that nearly shattered Laurens's fragile heart. "What is it? Whas he sad about?" Philip mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"That's... for adults to know. Not little boys who choose to snoop instead of sleeping." Laurens spoke, letting a teasing tone color his voice to try and lift the dull atmosphere.

Philip giggled with his hands pressed over his mouth, and fell back against his pillows, "Tell me, Jackie! I'll sleep after, promise!"

"Promise, huh?"

"I promise!"

Laurens shifted hesitantly, glancing at the doorway.

"...It's... about old friends."

"Huh? Who?"

"Ones who were very dear to your father." Laurens's gaze drifted downwards. "You know of the war, yes?"

"Yeah... Daddy used to talk about it a lot." Philip spoke curiously, tentatively.

"They fought together, but drifted apart after that, going to places... far away." Laurens chose his words carefully. "Some may not come back. But maybe you'll get to meet them."

Philip's eyes were wide and he had gone uncharacteristically quiet. "I wanna meet them,"

"One day, bud." Laurens smiled gently.

A new voice interrupted them. Laurens's gaze flicked up towards the doorway. He ignored how his heart skipped a beat.

"Who are you talking to, Philip?"

Alex's dim voice filled the room, tired to match his appearance. He approached the two on the bed, clearly uneasy with being disturbed at this hour, but Laurens knew how any anger in Alex's eyes dissipated gently whenever he gazed at his child.

"Talking with my friend, Daddy." Philip responded innocently though he was doing anything but making eye contact.

Laurens flinched as they talked, hanging his head and scratching his neck. He still had yet to get used to how Alex would look right through him.

"Oh yeah?" Alex sat. "And who's this wise fellow with the audacity to wake you up so early?"

Philip giggled. Laurens watched Alex's heart melt in real time. "Whas-- aw-daassity?"

Alex shifted hesitantly. "Oh, err-- a boldness, or a nerve, of sorts, I suppose. But that should not stop you from answering my question, young man." he addressed him persistently. Alex ruffled his hair. "Your father has much to get done today, you know."

Laurens huffed, eyes cast downward. What was new? This was one of the only times Alex might hold such a casual conversation with his son before they become sparse and tense once more, buried under piles of Alexander's work.

"I'm sorry," Philip insisted, ducking away from Alex's hand, "but I wanted to talk to Jackie. My..." Philip looked briefly to Laurens for confirmation, "...my imaginary friend."

"I-- pardon...?"

Laurens watched Alexander's gaze gain a distant quality to it. He huffed bashfully. He was not sure Alex would remember that nickname.

"Jackie! Well I thiiink he has other names too but he says I get to call him Jackie. Cus I'm special."

Alexander breathed a weak chuckle, nodding slowly.

"He sounds nice... Philip.

"But let him know you'll talk to him later. You must get rest. Far too early to rise now. And today's a big day." Alex stood and started towards the hall.

Laurens recognized the clipped quality of his sentences, and his stiff movements. It was Alex's indicator of discomfort. Laurens had managed to notice that a long while ago.

"Okay." Philip watched Alex leave. His gaze drifted to Laurens with a shy shrug.

Laurens stood. "Told you so."

Philip snorted.

"But if it makes you feel better, I'll tell you more about our-- about Alex's friends later, alright? Sleep well bud." Laurens patted Philip's head. Philip mumbled in response as he pulled the covers over his shoulders.

Laurens found himself somewhat relieved that neither Alexander nor his child had read into Laurens's words. He had yet to comprehend everything himself. He didn't wish to force that upon the others.

Someday, perhaps.

He wondered how Alexander might react.

Alexander. Heavy eyes and a small frame. Laurens did not like to see him like that. His eyes drifted towards the doorway where the man had left.

Laurens found Alex in his study. He had stepped very quietly down the hallway once Philip fell asleep.

Alex was hunched in his chair over a few letters under a warm flickering candlelight. His unkempt hair was out of its usual ponytail, brushing his shoulders, and though his usual fire had dimmed the candlelight seemed to paint highlights on his reddened locks in just the right manner...

Laurens was almost thankful that there was no one around to catch him staring.

He approached the desk at which Alex sat, silent. Alex held a quill between two dark fingers and yet his hand remained there suspended as Alex gazed down at the letter. Laurens skimmed over some painfully fond words on the page and felt his heart clench when his eyes laid on "dear Laurens".

He did not understand those letters, did not understand how Alex could think so bluntly.

He almost wished he could confront his own feelings with such fearlessness.

Laurens sighed and then jumped startled when Alex shifted, glancing ever so slightly over his shoulder at the doorway.

"Eliza?" he spoke tentatively, though he gained no response.

Alex shrugged and faced his desk once more, rubbing his forehead. Laurens shuddered. Perhaps it was just a creak.

"Alex, I..." Laurens paused, waiting for a reaction, and then relaxed and continued when he got none. "I hope this rut passes soon."

Laurens leaned his hands on the table.

"My death was not in vain, I... er, it pains me to think you'd lament for months after the news of it."

Alex's fingers twitched but otherwise gave little indication that he could hear. Laurens winced. He should be content with being able to speak with Philip, but not being able to offer any comfort to his old friend ached like nothing else.

Then Alex spoke. It was barely a whisper.

"I don't know what to do."

Laurens blinked. That Alex, brash and confident Alexander, should speak like this -- Laurens felt he must be in Hell. Alexander didn't speak like that. His Alexander didn't speak like that.

"Don't expect yourself to know what to do." Laurens insisted with a stiff and shaky voice. "I get your hunger and ambition but you're grieving the loss of a friend and you're burying yourself in work like a madman!" Laurens' fingertips scraped against the desk. "ANY sane person should be overwhelmed by this. You don't have to bury yourself, you're allowed to confront the feelings too."

Laurens stared. Alex's shoulders were shaking.

"Let yourself breathe Alexander, just like in the old days. Don't you remember?" Laurens rested a hand upon Alex's shoulder, at least, to the best of his ability given his incorporeality.

"Me, you, Herc, Lafayette-- we drank like it was the end of the world. Heh... I s'pose back then that could've been tomorrow, or the day after, or next Saturday -- it didn't matter to us, did it Alex? We just hung on to each other for dear life, back then, singing and whooping, starting fights and getting ourselves kicked from the bar."

Laurens were so lost in his reminiscing that he did not notice the slight wistful smile on Alexander's lips.

"I understand those days are gone, Alexander. But they're what have gotten you here, and you can't let them consume you. Every death is a new beginning. I know that."

Laurens closed his eyes and remembered Philip, sleeping soundly in the other room.

He was startled when Alex's voice spoke in a whisper, "I remember."

Laurens watched Alex carefully, taking in the sight of him, there, still not facing Laurens and Laurens knew he could not hear. But Laurens's words were reaching him. Some way or another, in his head. Laurens knew. His own fingers clenched.

Alex spoke again. "Jackie." Laurens stiffened sharply. "That name was yours, John. I remember...

"I miss you."

John drew in a shuddering breath. His fingers found Alexander's, resting over the table.

Alex brushed away the letters with quiet mumbles, found another piece of parchment between his fingers and dipped his quill. "But for him, I suppose...

"It is time for me to move on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, John Laurens does have limited influence over others, despite only being Philip's guardian angel. His touch can come in the form of chills and his voice can come in the form of whispers or influence others' thoughts (though only if they welcome it) which is why Alex seems weakly receptive of his words. John's essentially a spooky ghost.


	3. Little Prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up a long while after last chapter, Philip shows his first few signs of major growth and starts questioning the nature of Jack as a supposedly imaginary entity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapters will probably skim and skip through the very early stages of Philip's life, unfortunately for those who like smol Philip, I'm just simply not as comfortable with my skills writing a baby/toddler/child character. Don't worry though there will still be plenty of wholesomeness!

Philip ran laughing towards where John sat on the porch steps. His smile was brighter than the sun that shone through his auburn hair.

"Easy, bud, you'll wear yourself out," John chuckled softly.

"Nahhh! Did you see me?? I was all like..." Philip then proceeded to make many playful animalistic imitations that John could not interpret for the life of himself.

"Hm, of course. You gave Da-- you gave your daddy a run for his money." John Laurens cursed himself. Third time he'd made that slip.

Philip laughed gleefully. He pivoted on his heel to plop down on the steps next to his friend. "I'm gonna be like him when I grow up."

"Oh really now?"

"Ya!" Philip's eyes gleamed. John sighed as he recognized that all-too-familiar flame. "Well, I will be my father but _bolder."_ He wore a daring grin.

"Ha," John covered his mouth with his fist, "watch out world!" he remarked with proud laughter.

A new voice joined them. "What gossip is he spreading about me now, Philip?"

John's gaze flicked quickly upwards. He straightened somewhat, smiling very slightly as Alex made his way over.

The handsome man's hands were in the pockets of a dirtied coat, and his hair was tied up in a high ponytail. The sunlight framed him and the grass parted for him.

Alex still tended to cling to his work these days, despite what had happened in the study. But they had a few precious days on the weekends like this one, where Alexander grudgingly agreed to take a bit of time off to spend more time with his family.

"Nooothing," Philip giggled, sitting forward very animatedly. "Well, I was saying I would grow up to be just like you."

A playful grin snuck on Alexander's face, while he kneeled on one knee to look his son in the eye. "Yeah? Think you've got what it takes? Hah, I'll believe it when I see it, sir."

"How about we wait until after dinner for that, sweetheart?" Eliza spoke from the doorway, voice firm but warm with mirth.

"Oh." Alex wore the look of a child told to go to bed early. John struggled not to burst into laughter. "Looks like we've run out of time anyway." He gave a dismissive shrug and ruffled Philip's hair.

"Oh--!" Philip smiled slightly as he ducked away, "I'll come in in a second, I just got to get my things." he insisted.

Alexander stood and approached the doorway. "Just don't be too long, got it?"

"Sure!"

Eliza and Alexander had both headed inside when Philip swiftly turned to John, catching him off guard.

"Jackie, now that they went off-- I wanted to ask you a thing,"

John blinked. He coughed into his elbow, hastily recovering from his fit of repressed laughter. "Hit me."

"Well... you knoww... I know what an imaginary friend is,"

At that, the warmth within him dissipated. He cocked his head to one side with his eyes drifting away. "Yeah?"

"Yeaah but I don't think you are one, are you?"

"...what might make you think so?" Laurens mumbled in a faltering voice.

"Well, Daddy asks a question about you, and, if, if you were my imaginary friend, I should be able to answer it myself," Philip pointed out curiously, "but instead I got to ask you."

John blinked. A curiously intelligent way of thinking about it, he supposed. He should expect no less from Alexander's son.

"I ask you a lot of things," Philip continued wide-eyed, "and you tell me things I didn't know before." A sort of mischievous determination warmed his face as if he were on the cusp of solving a crime.

But John could only nod slowly.

"...Are you really an imaginary friend Jackie?"

There was silence.

John considered in a few somewhat tense moments the million terrible ways he might confront this and mess it up.

After the pause got uncomfortable, John gave a curt response. "Smart kid." He tilted his head slightly towards the doorway. "How about we talk about it after dinner?" The anticipation of the inevitable conversation loomed over him.

Philip tilted his head but got to his feet. "Okay...!"

They walked inside.

A while after supper, the sun was retiring behind the distant hills, and Philip had dragged John insistently to his dim room very eager to confront him. John didn't understand how Philip could so passionately remain a beacon of ecstatic light in such a dreary atmosphere, especially when so many anxious thoughts swam in John's head, but he certainly appreciated it.

"A friend?"

"Of your father." John clarified quietly.

"But..."

"Philip--" He cleared his throat. "you recognize the name John Laurens?"

Philip's eyes widened. "...John... Father does not like to talk about him very often."

"No. That's because he was killed in the war." John spoke gently. "The very one that your father won."

Philip remained silent, gaze resting searchingly upon his friend.

"You're young -- you... should take care not to dwell too long on the nature of life and death.

"But John was not so satisfied with his life, or his choices, you know. And so he was granted a chance to atone, to- to redeem himself and heal those he had harmed by his passing, by serving as the Guardian Angel to Alexander's oldest son."

John watched the cogs turning in Philip's brain. "Jackie..." Philip breathed. "Guardian Angel."

John leaned over to gently kiss the child's forehead. "That's me."

Philip squeaked. "With the pretty freckles and hazel eyes, just like Daddy described," he hesitantly smiled, and then giggled slightly, airy with disbelief, "It's really you?"

John fought back a blush at Alexander's alleged descriptions. "...In the flesh, or lack thereof..."

"It's really you, it's really-- a guardian angel! Jackie, I did not know they existed, I, I should tell Daddy--" Philip began, eyes glimmering with excitement but John was swift to interrupt.

"No your-- your daddy's very busy these days. And knowing his dead friend, who he's trying to move on from, is guarding his son-- that would be a lot for him to try and swallow. Let's wait til he has less on his plate, kay bud?"

Philip blinked a couple times and pouted slightly. "If you say so.

"But tell me more!" he gasped. "I want to know about your war! A-and your friends, the ones you drank with, and-- Jackie, you said you were sad about your life... why were you sad about your life?"

John opened and closed his mouth. "That's... a long story..." he ventured hesitantly.

He flinched at Philip's puppy dog eyes.

"You wanna hear about our friends, huh?" John interjected, swiftly abandoning the previous topic. He relaxed and folded his legs when Philip happily bought the distraction, watching him nod enthusiastically.

"Well, let's see." Laurens began comfortably, gaze drifting. "We were a rambunctious sort, you know. You should expect as much from a group who meets up at a bar."

Philip giggled.

"But I'd wager the loudest of us were--" _Me._ "Hercules. The guy's a tough-looking teddy bear usually," he said with something of a teasing smirk, prompting Philip to snicker, "but such a mess when he's drunk." _Like me._

"Although," John remarked thoughtfully, "that was before we met your father."

"Was Daddy super loud?" Philip laughed. John found the laughter contagious.

"Well. Our first impression of him was watching him give us a slurred drunken speech about his _ascendance_ by means of the Revolution, whatever in God's name he meant by that -- not to mention overabundance of French swearing -- so I would say, er-- Yes. Relatively." He punctuated his words with ironic cynicism and swelled with pride when Philip laughed further. Laurens decided there must be no better feeling in the world than making someone laugh.

"Anyway--" John spoke as Philip quieted, "I met Herc after Lafayette, but we hit it off pretty easily after we learned about his support for the Revolution. He worked for a tailor, you see. And that can easily get tedious and mundane for a man such as him."

"Like, sewing? Mum likes to sew, sometimes." Philip remarked good-naturedly, endearingly propping his chin on his knuckles.

John nodded. "Certainly a lovely hobby, but-- Hercules couldn't stand it, not when there was the whisper of revolution all throughout the streets, you realize."

Philip gave a quiet _"oooh,"_ eyes wide with piqued interest.

"Lafayette, though. I had met him before Hercules, and we had been acquaintances for a long while. He hails from France. Lankier than Hercules, yet with no less of a powerful stature. Ha... and me, I suppose I was the only one lacking." John found himself mumbling the last part as nothing more than an afterthought, his tone wavering. He was not even entirely sure that he had said it out loud until Philip very quietly tilted his head.

John faltered. What were he thinking. This was not about him.

"But you would like him, I should think. You would have to get him to take his walls down to see, but behind them he's a goofball just like any of us."

"I'm learning French." Philip piped up proudly.

"So you are."

"...would Laf- Lafay - yette be my friend?" he tentatively tried Laf's foreign name on his tongue.

John covered his mouth to muffle a chuckle. "Certainly." He ruffled Philip's hair. "Who wouldn't?"

Philip giggled though he still ducked away, and Laurens leaned in slightly with a mischievous look. "You're _Philip Hamilton_ after all. Don't you remember what your father used to tell you?"

"I'm gonna blow everyone away!" Philip nearly cut him off. John swore he saw stars in his eyes and for half a second John, brimming with paternal affection, forgot that Philip was not his own child.

"You got it. The whole world's gonna know your name." he spoke softly. "And if one day you happen upon Hercules or Lafayette, I know they'll be proud of you."

Then Philip's eyes gained a glowing sincere look about them that caught John off guard.

"Are _you_ proud of me, Jackie?"

John blinked.

And that was it. His heart was undone. He knew if he were given a second chance he would take a _bullet_ for this boy.

"I couldn't be more proud." John smiled gently.

Philip laughed and threw himself in a hug onto Laurens. John found himself somewhat disoriented, for Philip so far had been the only one able to make contact with him.

But the hesitation in John's mind evaporated -- he reciprocated, and gratefully, wrapping his arms around the child who nuzzled against John's chest. "Easy there... you've still a long ways to go, you know."

"I know." Philip sat up, though still generously leaning against his friend. "That's why Mum's gonna start teaching me piano one day."

"Oh, of course, so I've heard," John fixed his ponytail idly. "I think this little prodigy should head to bed then, no?"

Philip snorted quietly, looking down and fidgeting. "Well I'm not tiired..."

"Perhaps, but that should change once you've tucked yourself in." Laurens responded playfully, standing. "Your father rarely gets enough sleep these days, you ought to avoid learning from _that_ side of him, I think."

Philip sighed, as he sat back and fumbled for the covers. "Guess so.

"But, Jackie?" he spoke during a slight pause, eye glimmering with a sudden curiosity. John tilted his head.

"You didn't tell me about you,"

Laurens blinked, baffled. "Hm...?"

"About yourself!" Philip repeated with insistence. "You talked all about Hercules, and Lafayette, you talked about my dad being silly but nothing about you."

John huffed, finding himself bashful. "Err, there isn't much to talk about."

"Nonsense!" Philip scolded with a childish pout. "Daddy keeps all those letters for a reaaason!"

"You-- you saw them?!" John sputtered.

"No... but I know he has them. And Daddy would only write so much to someone important."

"Uh-- Good--" Laurens cleared his throat. "I'll just tell you about myself after breakfast, er, tomorrow, kay?"

"Mmm. Kay," Philip smiled and John hoped to God that it was not intended to be as teasing as it looked.

He breathed in sharply as he turned to the doorway. "Sleep well."

"Gniight Jackie!"


	4. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself terribly irrationally overwhelmed after his conversation with Philip previously. He gets a little bit of unexpected help coping.

John stood close to the doorway, finding his breath only once he left the room. He crumpled against the wall, swiping a hand across his brow. 

He supposed it didn't matter much, for him, now, if Philip somehow became aware of whatever it was that existed between John and Alex; but even so his insides twisted up at the thought of it becoming public to any degree.

And what was Philip's odd fascination with John's past?

Okay, so he supposed it was to be expected; a guardian angel should be a magnificent and heroic figure, right? Well, John hated the notion, because he was anything but that. 

He was a candle that couldn't burn. He was a pen that had no ink. 

If he had a halo it would be made of pyrite. If he had wings they would be broken. 

There was a reason why his life was short.

The sound of footsteps jolted him from his strange episode, and John looked up to see Eliza in a hushed and brisk pace towards her bedroom, a flickering candle in her hand.

Laurens huffed quietly. What a lovely girl.

Best of wives, best of women. 

Everything that Laurens was not. 

Everything that Alex should deserve--

No, no--

_No. ___

____

No, that was quite enough of that. Whatever could've happened, what did happen wasn't within his control. 

____

For Eliza, and for Philip, for Alex himself, John should be happy. He should be happy and he'll be the better person, he'll make them happy by protecting their son.

____

Yes. There we go. Back on track.

____

John groaned. Why even in death was his own mentality so tiring?

____

____

Eliza called softly from the other end of the hall. "Alexander..."

____

His response came, tired. "It will be just a minute."

____

"Of... course, but you said the same five minutes ago."

____

"Sorry, dear. Not much longer, I promise..."

____

Laurens blinked. He heard the bedroom door softly shut.

____

____

That was when the door just next to him creaked open, and he found himself startled so much he nearly fell to the floor.

____

"Jackie!" Philip spoke in a forcibly hushed whisper. "Sorry!!"

____

"What are you doing awake?!" John responded, his voice tight with a stiff mixture of humiliation, confusion and reprimanding. Philip's face was dimly backlit by the lamp behind him, creating wispy highlights on his unkempt hair.

____

"Mum and dad aren't asleep... and you aren't asleep..." Philip made a face. "You always fall asleep in my room Jackie."

____

"I guess I do, but that's no reason for you to fret so." John huffed indignantly as he brushed himself off and stood.

____

Philip crossed his arms. "No? But you're not sleeping because you're sad."

____

Laurens opened and closed his mouth, dumbfounded.

____

His gaze fell quickly to the floor. Such simple words, but Philip was clearly able to read him just as well as Alex used to.

____

The child giggled slightly, seemingly pleased with his accuracy. "Come back in, Jackie. I can read to you like Mum does!"

____

John failed to suppress a quiet whimper as he hung his head and carefully stepped inside. Such unconditional care was stingingly familiar and John didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve...

____

Philip took John's wrist and sat rather contentedly on the bed, reaching for a small artistic book.

____

He began to recite its words softly.

____

____

His voice quickly became fuzzier in John's mind, which was being flooded with terribly conflicted thoughts.

____

He watched Philip sitting with his youthful, sharp eyes scanning the pages. 

____

And there, he saw Alex, his fiery eyes and soft cheekbones. His disheveled hair and quiet voice. John saw everything that should stitch him together and speak strongly to him and convince him that he was anything other than a screw-up.

____

Anything other than a failure, shouldering the expectations of his family name, the loveless marriage he abandoned; the endless nights of drinking; the souls he had carelessly taken the lives of, on a dueling ground, or a bloody battered field, rich with the scent of rust, death and disappointment and decay, and yet in this room -- in Death, sitting before the future of Alexander's family... could he leave that all behind?

____

Say that none of it had to define him anymore, leave behind the guilts and regrets...

____

All that had clawed at his insides and tore him up bleeding. He, a wretched mess, finally letting go, of everything...

____

...nothing, but everything, everything...

____

"Oh, Jackie... are you...? Don't cry, Jackie..."

____

John breathed in very sharply.

____

He didn't know how it happened but in a few seconds the book was laying aside, Philip had him in an embrace and John was sitting there, the floodgates open, sobbing and whimpering rather pitifully into his hands.

____

"It's okay Jackie, it's okay."

____

"I'm sorry-- sor-- I--"

____

"Shhh. You can't talk and cry at the same time, silly,"

____

John choked out a weak laugh. He stammered quietly between his strangled sobs. "I'm your guardian angel. You should not see me like this."

____

Philip snorted quietly as he pressed against John's shoulder. "I dunno what a guardian angel should be. But I know you are Jackie," he retorted. "And Jackie is allowed to cry."

____

John wished for a more collected reaction of his, but instead found himself giving another rather high-pitched strangled whimper before he devolved again into a weeping mess. Such insistent reassurance, and with that same adamant bite of Philip's father...

____

They ended up remaining like that for a long while.

____

____

John found himself drifting into some form of deathly unconsciousness eventually, though he never recalled when or how. He only remembered clinging desperately to Philip's embrace, crying softly in the dull room, as if it were the last time John would ever feel it.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Deathly unconscious" = John's form of sleep. A ghost probably doesn't sleep so I bs'ed an interpretation of it, based around perception of time, but it really isn't important so just consider it John falling asleep.


	5. Sept, Huit, Neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip's playing piano with Eliza and Jack finds it reminds him of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for something like a traumatic flashback during this chapter -- I don't know enough about PTSD, panic attacks, etc to truly categorize it as anything, but just tread lightly if it sounds like a trigger.

Jack found focus one dreary winter morning, regaining a vivid consciousness when he heard the muffled sound of an old piano.

He opened his eyes, finding himself sitting on Philip's bed. Philip was off already, supposedly hard at work practicing with Eliza.

Jack hummed contentedly to himself as he stood quietly. The events of that distant night had taken place a while ago, leaving the memories fuzzy and nebulous. A childishly shameful part of him hoped Philip didn't have any memory of it. Men did not cry. Well... that was what Jack's father had taught him, at least.

Shrugging off the thought, Jack straightened his coat -- a habit more than anything, considering such clothes were not much more than useless decoration in death -- and made his way past the door.

He heard Eliza and her son in the main room.

"Agggh, Mum, I'm sorry-- I will get it right this time, I swear, Mum--"

Philip sounded more frustrated at himself than truly shameful. He also sounded like he could use some rest. Jack felt a twinge of guilt for not convincing the child to sleep sooner.

"Now, don't fret." Eliza spoke patiently. Jack stumbled down a couple steps to see them sharing a stool before their aged piano. "Let us try once more, you will get it in time."

"I just can't focus..." Philip mumbled, before his gaze rested on Jack and lit up. "...oh! Hey Jackie!"

Eliza tilted her head slightly, though she did not follow Philip's gaze. "Oh? Has your friend joined us?" She huffed amusedly.

Philip nodded gleefully while Jack gave a small smile and a wave. "Good sleep?"

"I suppose." Jack looked to the side with a shrug and a small nod.

"Good. Jackie went to bed late yesterday, Mummy... I think he was stressed. Like Daddy gets."

Jack muttered to himself as he fidgeted. So maybe he hadn't entirely ironed himself out since that one night... not yet...

Eliza's eyes glimmered with something like distant pity as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. Jack saw in her face dull recognition, knowing painfully that stress that overcame Alexander when his work ethic became too rigorous.

"Well I'm very sorry to hear that... why don't you show him what you've learned, dear? Perhaps that should help cheer him up." she suggested light-heartedly.

"Oh, yes! Jackie, come on, lemme show you what I've been doing!"

"Enlighten me," Jack responded playfully as he approached.

Philip proceeded to very meticulously play out a small ascending and descending scale, mumbling numbers in French under his breath. His excitement peaked when he approached the lowest notes.

The scale ended swiftly and Philip let out a joyous whoop, Jack with an _"Ayyyyy!!!"_ and Eliza took Philip in her arms, laughing as she pat him on the back. "There you go!"

"Watch out for this kid," Jack commented feeling a distinct warmth as he leaned against the piano with one arm. Philip giggled, and turned to the keys once more.

He invited Eliza to help him with a small glance, and up they went along the scale again, Eliza taking a higher octave. _"Un, deux, trois, quatre..."_

Jack huffed quietly. He wished Alex could see.

He considered this as he watched the two fondly. Jack had always regarded Alexander's ethic as admirable. And to Alex, writing was perhaps as necessary as a limb. But clearly not so beneficial in domestic life. He took reluctant pity on Eliza for bearing the weight of such a family on her shoulders.

"Good. Now: _un, deux, trois, quatre..."_

Jack tilted his head. Clearly, though, with Philip working diligently by her arm, Eliza was the perfect candidate for it.

He smiled slightly. He was happy for them.

He... was happy for them?

_"...sept, huit neuf--"_

"Sept, huit, neuf," Philip echoed obediently, though his fingers seemed to betray his voice, carrying the melody back up rather than down.

"No, no," Eliza chuckled softly, _"sept, huit, neuf..."_

"Sept, huit, neuf!" Again with the rising melody.

Jack snorted with amusement.

But, looking away, he found his mind drifting again to that rather pleasantly surprising truth: just now, he'd been so easily accepting of Eliza's role in Alexander's family.

There was no forbidden jealousy, no self-deprecation, or twisting pain. Just care and admiration.

Perhaps he really was getting better.

"Hm, let us try: _one, two, three, four..."_

"Five, six, seven, eight, niiiine!" Philip finished rather spectacularly, giggling. Eliza ruffled his hair.

John's gaze flicked towards them with a sudden urgency. He found himself grounded in a strangely unwelcome manner.

They were a pleasant sight, but those words... hadn't John heard them somewhere?

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!"

And then John froze.

__

__

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

__

__

Like a flashback, or deja vu, some terrible corner of his mind reaching out to grasp him--

_One, two, three, four_

Look him in the eyes... look--

Summon the courage-- the-- choking courage-- in his gut, crumbling... in the moment Laurens could either lose his soul--

Or take the soul of another.

He was courageous. He didn't have any choice but to be.

_five, six, seven, eight_

Looking him in the eyes-- those eyes, with the fear and the life draining away--

choking, struggling, as if he couldn't breathe-- couldn't breathe?

No matter how he despised the man, Laurens would never forget that horrid look on his face.

Cold shock, fiery pain, horror, terrible horror, betrayal...

And then a sort of draining, chilling, empty...

_nine--_

...couldn't... breathe...

_TEN PACES! FIRE!_

_"Jackie!"_ Philip's voice sliced through his thoughts and Laurens found himself painfully grounded.

He looked at Philip, regaining his breaths shakily.

"Jackie, are you okay?"

John looked away, clearing his throat and straightening himself out.

It took a few more blinks for him to finally fully register he was still here, in Alexander's house, with Eliza, and Philip...

Why that memory chose to plague him now, he didn't know. Surely it was not that unpleasant when it happened in real life. But that dreadful counting spelled unmistakable danger. And John was petrified.

He struggled meekly not to show this in front of Philip however, despite how his fingers shook.

"I'm alright bud. Just keep going." Jack's voice was muted.

Philip hummed with uncertainty. "Okay..."

"What's going on, dear?" Eliza spoke quietly. Philip responded only with a shrug and a mumble that Jack did not catch, for he had turned around to briskly walk off. The sound of the keys and that-- God, that counting, it faded into the distance as Jack weaved his way into the hall.

He found his unsteady footsteps subconsciously taking him quickly to Alexander's study.

In some desperate search for comfort... of course, what else should John expect? Who else?

John stepped through the doorway gingerly.

Alex sat quietly, hunched over as usual, with his candle long gone out. The soft light of the morning sun filtered in through the blinds, drifting carefully across the floorboards and hesitantly painting across Alexander's dull frame.

It was only a glance but Jack already found his breaths steadying slightly, weighed down by an aching fondness.

As he stepped closer he realized Alex was asleep, having collapsed over his crossed arms and upset the ink pot next to him.

Jack huffed amusedly. Dumbass.

He dragged himself up onto the desk, sitting with a knee drawn up. "Wake up."

Nothing.

He reached for Alex, who immediately jolted awake with a shudder once Jack's fingers rested upon his shoulder.

"Wh..."

His eyes, usually blue but now taking on more of a gray color (though no less striking), glimmered with dreary recollection. They flicked across the messy desk in front of him. The cogs in his brain were very slowly beginning to turn.

"...Fuck."

Jack tried and failed to contain a snicker. Instead it burst out in a form of mocking laughter. "I hope you've at least remembered to eat something."

Alexander grumbled something under his breath as he smoothed down his hair and fumbled for his papers.

"Back to your work? Y'know, your son's practicing piano in the main room." Jack continued to speak somewhat teasingly. He realized an accent peeked through his words, and found himself suppressing it almost embarrassed -- against all logic. "It's pretty damn nice, you really ought to go listen. If only for a little while."

Alexander stood, to Jack's surprise, but as it turned out he was only getting another pot of ink.

Jack hummed quietly, watching Alex sit back down and begin to scrawl quick and purposefully across his first page, continuing a previously unfinished sentence.

"Alexander..." Jack tested the old name on his tongue, and found himself loving it just as much as he used to. "Eliza is teaching Philip to count. And once they reached nine, I found myself recollecting that one tense night of the duel between me and Charles Lee. You remember?"

Alex continued writing, which John should expect, so he despised the fact it still planted a twinge of sadness in his gut. Though -- Alex did tilt his head a little.

"I don't know what to make of it." John mumbled. "I'm worried."

Alexander gave a quiet huff.

"I suppose I shouldn't be," Jack closed his eyes thoughtfully, "The duel has nothing to do with your son. And he was so happily content practicing with Eliza. There isn't much reason to be upset. But I can't get the feeling out of my head."

Alex sat back against his chair, laying down his quill briefly and cracking his knuckles. His gaze drifted about the room, and Jack's heart skipped a beat only to realize it was resting on the window past Jack's shoulder.

Jack gave a quiet sigh, cocking his head to the side slightly as he fell quiet taking in Alexander's fiery appearance fully.

"...what I'd give to be able to truly converse with you again..."

Jack ran a hand through his own hair. "I could, of course, allow Philip to tell you about me. Would that help, you think?" He snickered quietly. "He could relay our messages. Like translation work, started early."

Jack still did not know if his thoughts reached Alex, but Alex gave a slight snort which was enough to make Jack's heart swell a little.

Jack opened and closed his mouth, and for a moment a somewhat stiff silence hung in the air. His voice softened when he finally spoke, "damn, Alex, Eliza's a lucky girl."

Alexander's eyes flicked downwards with a jarring halt in his movements, though it only lasted for a breath.

The words had tumbled out before Jack really even realized they were going to, and yet, alone, only in Alexander's presence, he didn't find himself very afraid. It alarmed him slightly, but then again what did it matter? The law couldn't condemn him in death, and much less if no one was aware of it.

There was the truth that perhaps God was looking down at him in disgust now, but everything he'd seen in his time here made him hesitantly doubt his old perceptions of this figure.

Jack's gaze drifted away, filled with anxious consideration. It wasn't like he sought to interfere with Alexander's marriage, even if the resulting repression pained him. If the only reason his feelings should be considered improper is because of how others would perceive them, and not because of how they affect others -- were they really improper?

Jack very swiftly dismissed the topic, not wanting to think himself sinking further into this odd unholy rabbithole.

But one more glance at Alexander, and he just...

Jack cleared his throat.

"How 'bout you come to your family's dinner on time, tonight, and then maybe I'll consider making my presence known," he spoke, despite knowing he might as well be speaking to no one, as he stood off the desk. "They really deserve a little more of your time, I think." Jack looked over his shoulder, wearing a small smirk.

Alexander scoffed in that all-too-familiar adamant manner.

Jack shrugged and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. He had calmed by now, and he didn't wish to linger in this odd, tense atmosphere.

He hovered quietly, for a moment or two, and then strode briskly back towards the hallway.


	6. One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more domestic Jack and Philip moments, with some well-deserved spotlight for Eliza, before things get to shake up a little in the next chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Nother small panic this chapter but nothing too bad.
> 
> I think I will stick to a loose schedule of updating on Mondays and Fridays since the chapters aren't too big and this isn't any hassle to write so far, so this can be considered a late submission for Monday. Subject to change though, you know how fanfic writing can be >:|

Jack must have been staying in the study longer than he realized, for when he returned to the main room Philip and Eliza no longer sat at the piano. Instead Philip sat at the dining table across the room, conversing loudly and gleefully with his mother who stood at the counter making the boy a sandwich. The household and the gentle sunlight framed the two in that perfect moment as if the whole marbled kitchen was covered in a blanket of warmth. So of course Jack felt a little guilty when he went and ruined the picture with his presence.

Philip quickly looked his way when Jack approached, with a meek smile.

"Jackie! Sit," he practically commanded, pulling out a chair next to him.

"You could at least say please." Jack responded though his frustration was blatantly an act and he gave Philip an amused smirk when he sat.

Philip froze slightly, blinking. "Oh-- uh. Please sit?"

"I've already sat."

And so Philip was at a befuddled loss of what to do.

Eliza looked over chuckling softly. "Lettuce?"

"Yes please!" Philip piped up, immediately grateful for the distraction. Jack did not let this last long, however, for he leaned in with a "Oh so now you use your manners, hm? I see how it is."

"Oh shutup Jackie, you know I don't mean that!" Philip protested with a childish grin upon his face, swatting at Jack. Jack reared back snickering.

Eliza huffed as she turned, a plate with a humble-looking sandwich between her fingers. "Hmm. Does your friend need to go in time-out, dear?"

"What???" Jack sputtered.

Philip snorted. "Yes! Time out, Jackie."

"I-- you should know I am a grown man, young sir!" he protested, baffled and confused, yet it didn't stop amusement from brightly coloring his tone.

"Mum's orders." Philip responded with smug finality, fixing Jack with a challenging gaze.

Jack considered arguing further, but settled with playing along, withdrawing to a cushioned stool at the corner of the room while giving Philip an indignant pout. Philip giggled and laughed, and Jack's playful grumpy façade crumbled.

"Looks like your friend's as much of a little troublemaker as you, hmm?" Eliza commented teasingly as she set the plate down in front of Philip and sat in the chair previously pulled out for Jack.

"I am not a troublemaker," Philip retorted between chuckles, grasping the plate in his hands.

Eliza smiled. "Perhaps."

"I'm not!"

"Oh, do go ahead and eat, I'm only teasing. You know, we're going on a walk around town after lunch for the latest edition of the newspaper,"

Philip nodded quickly while taking a monstrous bite of his sandwich, before his eyes flicked up to his mother. "Will Daddy come?" His words were muffled. Eliza shook her head disdainfully and Philip looked away sheepishly to swallow before she allowed him an answer.

"...I am not sure." She sighed.

Philip hummed quietly, gaze falling again.

"Philip, why don't you tell me more about your friend?"

Jack perked up from where he sat, having contentedly listened until now. He met Philip's gaze, twitching apprehensively.

"Jackie?" Philip grinned, seemingly failing to take the hints. "He's the best! He talks to me when I get lonely."

"How sweet of him." Eliza looked carefully up at the time-out stool where Jack sat, and Jack suddenly found himself feeling particularly vulnerable. 

"Ya. But he's super witty too. So he's in time out." Philip stuck his tongue out at Jack, who reciprocated in kind.

"Of course," his mother chuckled softly, before it gave way to a curiosity. "You know, that name of his seems rather familiar."

Philip glanced back over at Jack, who shrank away hesitantly shaking his head. "Does it? Jack is a nice name, I think a lotta people like to use it."

"I would imagine." Eliza murmured, "though, wasn't Alexander's old friend nicknamed such?"

"Oh yeah! I completely forgot," Philip spoke, briefly making Jack freeze, "I got to peek at the letters Dad had and Jackie liked that name. So I let him have it too."

Eliza only hummed, eyes dim with uncertainty.

"Why? Was Daddy's friend super cool?" Philip dove deeper into the lie, throwing Jack a wink.

His mother played with a strand of hair, giving Philip a rather detached smile. "Yes, a very admirable gentleman, I'm sure. With a rambunctious Southern charm. He and your father were best friends..."

Jack did _not_ like that knowing glimmer in Eliza's eyes.

"So I suppose it is apt that his son should make friends with his own Jack, no?" she continued with a more relaxed tone, her face lighting up with fond amusement.

Did she know? There was no way she would know. _Oh god she must know._

"Hehe, yes! That musta been why Jackie liked the name..."

_Oh God oh God oh God, Eliza had status like no other, if John were still alive she'd likely have reported, condemned him--_

"I should imagine so!" Eliza gave a sweet smile, carefully standing. "Perhaps you'd like some water, dear?"

_She deserved him-- keep Alex to herself-- she were probably glad Laurens had died!-- And rightfully so, oh Lord, Laurens were a sinner-- terrible, broken, gross desires--_

"Yes! Yes please!" Philip perked up.

"Good...

"...you know, you should take care not to mention Alexander's friend around him. He is still shaken by the fact that Jack had to go away after the war. It--" Eliza sighed, fidgeting, an uncharacteristically disheveled and melancholy expression adorning her face. "It's something of a shame, really, I... would have liked to get to know him better."

Philip blinked.

"...Me too."

_Hated him, petrified, burning, scalding, hatred-- he should be hated-- a monster, a broken mess-- hated--_

The colors were all swimming around John's vision, spinning, and he knew he heard Eliza's and Philip's voice muffled and far away as if underwater, but he could not-- Could not--

John had no clue how much time had passed when Philip laid a hand on his shoulder, and he hardly noticed him walk over, for his shaking hands were over his face and he hadn't even realized til now.

"Jack, did it happen again?" His voice was laced with concern.

He looked up, blinking a few times to register the sunny-faced child standing in front of him. He swallowed and nodded, checking his hands. He had not been crying. That was good.

John spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse. "Sudden but it's not as bad as it could've been. I had worse when I was still alive. I'm-- sorry, I don't know what--"

Philip rolled his eyes. "That don't make it any better, you know." He pulled John into a firm hug, and John, blinking, matched his breaths with Philip's.

"...Apologizing?"

"No well-- that too, I guess, it's not your choice it happens, right?"

Jack's gaze fell. He hesitantly hugged Philip back. The little guy was getting steadily taller. He welcomed the grounding feeling that came with that fact.

"Well-- there is more I could do, I'm sure--"

"Nah. All you gotta do is breathe, OK?"

Jack let out a weak, airy chuckle, while Philip nuzzled against him comfortingly. "...Philip, where's Eliza?"

"Getting her shoes." he explained. "We're going for a walk."

"Oh--"

"You're staying here though." Philip told him as he backed off, giving a face that was heart-achingly similar to Eliza's stern face. Worries about Philip getting hurt, about Jack failing again threatened to flood his mind but he found himself at a loss for any words to protest with. "You freaked out twice today, you gotta rest."

"It's really not that bad but..." Jack found his voice drifting off, unable to meet Philip's gaze, "...y'know, sure. I-I'll stay."

Philip beamed, all coldness evaporating in less than a heartbeat. "Good! You can keep Daddy company!"

"'Course, bud." Jack ruffled Philip's hair, giving him a warm yet somewhat forced smile.

He couldn't be more grateful for the kid, but...

What kind of fucked up guardian angel was he? He crumbled to pieces every other day at this point. He was barely protecting Philip as much as Philip was offering him constant comfort for his childish fears. The kid didn't deserve someone like him. A _liability._ Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?!

Jack breathed in shakily. Slow the breathing. Calm. He remembered Philip's voice, how he spoke _"Don't know what a guardian angel is, but I know you're Jackie. Jackie is allowed to cry."_

"Philip--" he found himself speaking up before Philip rushed off.

Philip pivoted on his heel, curly hair bouncing behind him. "Wha?"

"Nothing. I mean, thanks." Jack cursed himself. Always a mess when it came to formalities. "Thank you. For helping me. You're a good kid. You're gonna make your family proud one day."

Philip processed this for a moment or two, clearly disoriented by the soft sincerity of the tone that Jack did not use often.

He tilted his head. He gave Jack a small, heartfelt smile, eyes glimmering with that layered familial fondness Jack sometimes saw in Eliza's or Alexander's gaze. He then turned and padded off after his mother.

Jack huffed. Philip knew how to carry himself. Eliza should keep him safe too. But if Jack couldn't do anything -- if he were forever constrained to this grossly human version of himself -- _just this "Jackie"_ \-- he would at least make sure Philip had a good friend.

He turned and walked back towards Alexander's study.


	7. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an admittedly out-of-place light-hearted chapter title, welcome to the perspective of Philip Hamilton on a winter afternoon with his mother.

Philip shoved his small pale hands in his coat pockets as he walked quickly next to Mum. The air was chilly. He wasn't so much a fan of the cold. It made the town seem quiet. And he wasn't so much a fan of the quiet either.

"How much longer?" he mumbled, voice muffled. By his coat or by the cold, he wasn't sure.

"We'll find the stand right around the block, dear. And we'll go straight home afterwards." Eliza's arm rested on Philip's shoulder.

Philip nodded, letting his gaze wander. Despite the temperature, the streets were full of people, their breaths in puffs dissipating into the air.

"That is, unless you'd like to go get hot chocolate?" she offered, smiling, as she looked down sideways at Philip.

Philip gasped, eyes lighting up. He could already feel the warmth of the cup within his fingers. "Please!"

Eliza laughed melodically, running fingers through Philip's hair. "Alright. We'll stop at the café."

Philip gave a small smile before resuming his zoning out.

It was odd to think about. He, a child, in the midst of a new nation. Citizens chattered and sang and whooped around him. They were in their own worlds and he did not understand any of it.

_"You will come of age with our new nation. We'll bleed and fight for you... we'll make it right for you."_

One day though he would. He would fight and write his way past every obstacle. He'd lead masses, he'd give them hope and ambition and astonish them with every speech he made, every piece of writing published. Philip would make it right for _everyone._ He'd be everything his dad was and more.

Or maybe he'd be like Jackie.

Philip tilted his head as he thought about this. He really wished he knew more about Jack. Jack didn't talk about himself. Not very much, no.

He pouted slightly. Didn't Jack promise to tell Philip more one morning? He never followed through. He pushed it back further and further until they stopped reminding each other about it. Maybe Jack thought Philip would forget.

Hah! Philip Hamilton never forgot anything.

A light tug on his arm jolted him back to reality. Eliza nudged him around a street corner. "This way."

"Oh, right, sorry..." He averted his gaze. Eliza only shrugged and smiled. She eventually turned to face a man who stood near a couple racks holding and waving a paper and shouting what sounded like gibberish to Philip.

Philip watched them for a second or two. The man was pointing out the different daily papers when Philip hesitantly spoke. "Can I head in and order?" he mumbled to Mum, tilting his head in the direction of the café. "Don't quite like it out here."

Eliza perked up. "Oh, well I suppose, if you wish." She rifled through her pockets, holding out a few crinkled dollar bills. "But don't get into any trouble. I'll be right behind you. Come and get me if--"

"If I need anything, I will!" Philip finished, waving it off like it was a fly. He already took the money and was off through the cafe doors, where the warmer air greeted him in waves, thank God.

He understood the concern, that of Eliza and Alexander, but he really didn't mind walking on his own. He was growing fast! He needed to learn to be independent quick if he was gonna be like his dad.

The rich and pungent scents of dark coffee flowed around him when he entered. Philip willed himself to extinguish the fluttering feelings of doubt that arose from being surrounded by unfamiliar faces. _Chin up. Chest out._

He scampered up swiftly to the counter -- he was proudly tall enough to see all past it, now -- and waved to the cashier.

"Hey, sweetie, uh--" The employee was a somewhat stout woman who, Philip thought, had too much makeup. "...Where's your parents?"

"Nearby. Mrs. Hamilton will be coming inside in just a moment." Philip explained, mechanically unwilling to use any other fond nickname for his mother in front of this stranger. "Could you get me a hot chocolate please?"

Philip knew he spoke proudly, especially by how the lady looked at him with a sort of masked impression. "Hamilton? Huh. Kay. Well hang around where I can see ya, hun, we'll get that to you shortly." She shouted something to the one other worker in the back, the disheveled fluffy-haired man who looked just about done with the place.

Philip leaned against the counter, turning to watch the doorway, while the lady behind him attended to the other customers. It was only then that he felt his hair ruffled by someone beside him and he bit back a spooked squeal of sorts, whirling towards Eliza.

"Mom!" he sputtered, swatting at her. She laughed, placing a gentle hand on his wrist, easily willing Philip to desist in that firm, collected motherly fashion that only she could manage. Philip pouted.

"I told you I would not be long." Eliza smiled. "Philip, I'd like for you to meet mister Aaron Burr."

Philip paused, head tilted slightly. He had only now noticed the darker-skinned man beside Eliza who stood straight, chest out, carrying himself as he were constantly perusing a fine art museum. His eyes were dark and sharp, not unkind, but not friendly either. Philip did not know what to make of this man. He only vaguely recognized the name from his father's tired ramblings.

"Mr. Hamilton. It's a pleasure." he spoke steadily. Too steadily. He offered a hand.

"Mr. Burr... sir..." Philip regarded the man with masked skepticism as he took the offer. He saw Eliza hide an amused smile between her fingers for reasons he didn't know.

Eliza took Philip's hand, and led the two towards a table near the corner of the establishment. "He's a long-time acquaintance of your father's," she explained further, "they have sided with and against each other in many issues, haven't you Burr?"

"Such is the nature of politics." Burr shrugged. "Your father's... a respectable man."

"I'm gonna be like him." Philip spoke before he realized he did. He regretted it.

Mom smiled, and Burr let out what Philip assumed was a chuckle. Philip was still struggling to find out how exactly Burr emoted. "I'm sure you will." he spoke. Warmth? Recognition? At least that was something.

Philip tried to smile. Eliza meanwhile turned quickly to Burr, insisting, "Do tell us of the Theodosias? How do they fare?"

"They are well," Burr responded thoughtfully, gaze wandering, "though my wife was never quite so resilient against the chill."

"Ah--" Eliza sat up with a frown, "you will send them our best wishes, won't you?" Their conversation faded into white noise in Philip's ears. He was meanwhile glancing around. Philip didn't know how long it had been before he stood, Eliza granting him permission to go with a wave of her hand, and he walked towards the counter.

The employees labored, clearly exhausted despite the chill outside. Philip wondered if there were enough of them.

He stood before the lady took notice of him, hurrying over. She spoke before he had any opportunity to ask. "Oh yes sweetie, it is almost, done, just--" she looked over her shoulder to call for the other worker. 

"I know..." his voice was muted and he had hair and a distinct stubble like Dad's. After a few awkward seconds the man brought over Philip's steaming cup, handing it to the lady who in turn handed it to Philip.

“Thanks.” Philip took it. _Tip your hat. Wait I don’t have a hat. Fine I can still be a gentleman, just smile._

“Sure hun.” She threw him a wink before hurrying off.

Philip huffed, with a slight smirk. This whole socializing thing really wasn't that bad at all. He'd be out independent in no time.

He turned to quickly retreat to where his mother sat with Burr. Philip overheard them speak of who must be Burr's daughter.

"...and fluent in French, too."

Philip was not sure at all what they were talking about but his clearly flawless interaction with the employee made him confident. "I'm fluent in French," he butted in, with an open-mouthed smile.

Burr laughed. "Theo is about your age, if a few years younger."

And at that Philip's confidence drained. He wrinkled his nose. What was Burr implying? 

...Tch. Philip wasn't dumb, he totally could've learned French earlier too...

He didn't understand why Eliza was not offended either when she only sat back smiling warmly. "I do wish the two could meet."

Meet? Meet this Theo-doh-sia? 

No.

"Hm. I'm sure they could make good friends. Alas my daughter is staying in a city in Connecticut with my Theodosia." Burr huffed very quietly. "The political competition in this city presents a rather tumultuous environment for a child to grow in anyway, no?"

Philip regarded the comment rather resentfully, burying his nose in the cup of hot chocolate. He let the rich warm taste settle on his tongue to distract him from his festering desire to snap out.

Eliza shrugged, not losing her friendly demeanor. "Isn't it? Of course, for some it's been quite the beneficial opportunity." She said this lightly elbowing her son. Philip snorted. "Philip is learning very quickly!"

"Oh, yes, certainly," Burr nodded along, for once allowing a small smile in his expression. 

"Say, Burr-- would your little Theodosia mind writing letters? I'm sure Philip would greatly enjoy the opportunity to meet such an individual, even if interaction must be limited by the distance of the states-- wouldn't you?" Eliza grinned down at Philip.

Philip recoiled, blinking, biting back a cynical _"...guess so"_ and instead managing a "Sure." As much as this "Burr" figure confused and frustrated him, he couldn't ignore Eliza's voice in his conscious insisting that he _"be polite, dear."_

"Theo could use a potential friend," Burr conceded, pensive, "though I must admit, I'd be surprised if your husband were impressed by such an interaction," he chuckled softly.

Though being "polite" proved difficult. Aaron Burr was reserved, mysterious in such a way that Philip could only see him as snobby. It was like he had such an air about him that if you didn't quite meet his fancy he'd probably just dismiss you with an _"I'm getting nervous"_ or something dumb like that.

Eliza wound a lock of hair around her finger, gaze drifting. "Alexander can be... quick to judge," she admitted, smiling, "but it just takes time. He warms up to most things."

Like who the heck did this guy think he was?! 

Philip didn't like it one bit. And he did not like the guy trying to shove his daughter as a "friend" upon him. He did not care if she was lonely, Philip was not. Jack was plenty enough of a friend for him, tha-ank you very much.

Jack! Philip couldn't wait to tell him about his clearly breathtaking and independent social interactions. He'd be so proud!

"So, when would you like to write?"

Oh. He was zoning out. Oops. 

Philip looked up at Eliza. "Um." He blinked, taking a moment to remember what she was referring to. He settled with "I'll think about it."

Eliza cocked her head, bewildered for a moment before she looked up quickly and waved Burr goodbye. Philip realized with a start that Burr was leaving, and so he waved as well.

"Can we go home?" he spoke a bit too quickly, looking up at Mom with wide eyes.

She chuckled softly. "Alright, alright. Bring your hot chocolate," Eliza urged as she stood elegantly, brushing off her jacket.

Philip smiled, taking it between his hands while following. "I got it all by myself, Mum."

"So you did, sweetheart." Eliza laughed, giving him a wide smile that made Philip feel it was worth it.

"Jaaackie?" Philip glanced around the hallways, an eyebrow raised. It was a couple seconds before he saw the young man rush in from the direction of Dad's room, eyes wide. The light-colored curls of his hair bounced behind his shoulders.

"What's up? Is something up?"

Philip almost giggled at his friend's hasty nature. Jackie's eyes flitted about the room as if taking it in for the first time. It was like he had been snapped out of a daydream. He found Jackie in this state quite a few times, most noticeably around Alexander, which was a note Philip curiously could not bring himself to forget.

"No, nothing. But I'm home." Philip gently shook his warm cup in front of him while Jack registered.

"Oh! Stopped by a café, huh?" Jack folded his arms thoughtfully. "I was always more of a coffee person myself."

Philip raised an eyebrow. "Like Daddy? Do you have problems sleeping too?"

"Err--" Jackie frowned. "Your father has a overworking-induced _addiction._ I simply prefer it."

He laughed slightly, though unnerved by the reminder that his father were barely seen these days. Another thought inched into his mind though, and he let curiosity take him.

"Actually, about my father..." Philip tilted his head as his gaze drifted to the ceiling.

"...mm?" Jackie smiled slightly, in curious anticipation. 

Philip glanced at Jackie in the corner of his eye. Jack must have thought Philip wouldn't notice the way his shoulders tensed, or the way his eyes flicked quickly over his shoulder, or the way his fingers twitched.

"...Do you think he'll come for dinner tonight?" Philip asked as he began to lead Jackie towards his room.

And Jack's shoulders slacked and his mannerisms ceased quickly.

Huh.

"Oh, uh-- one can never tell these days." Jack muttered, finding his shoes very interesting, "but one can certainly hope."

Philip whimpered quietly and nodded.

"Hey-- bud, it's alright. He works so hard because he wants to give you and Eliza a good life. He hasn't forgotten you. As long as he remembers what he fights for he'll make more time for you, one day."

"Right... I, I trust you Jackie." Philip scratched his neck, his thin fingernails swishing through his curls before his gaze flicked up to Jack. "Hey, come on, I gotta tell you about the café!" He grinned as he raced towards his room, slipping inside swiftly and clumsily.

He heard Jackie's soft chuckles behind him while he followed.

That night Alex did not come to dinner on time.

But he did come to dinner, at least, which Philip found delightful. Jack would lean against the dining table while they talked, rebuking and jabbing at Alexander in such a manner that forced Philip to struggle to contain laughter while his poor parents only sat confused.

Eventually into the night though, Eliza would reveal to Philip that a new family member would soon be joining them and then it was Philip's turn to be confused.

In his room with Jackie (who thankfully explained the matter to him, between laughs anyway) he ended up staying up far too late, star-filled eyes gleaming with excitement.

Because all his dreams of a younger brother might finally be coming to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theodosia in Connecticut? Alright alright, so I know this isn't even accurate to the play, but bear with me, I just jumped at the idea of Philip and Theodosia potentially meeting through letters.
> 
> The aim of this fic isn't centered around its accuracy anyway, lots of info about the Theodosias will be all made up by me, not to mention I know next to nothing about the canon era lifestyle and don't intend on doing much research -- so just be aware of that!
> 
> As to whether or not Philip's grumpy self _does_ send a letter, well, we'll just have to wait and see :P


	8. Cold in your Professions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip is an angel but still inherits the brash stubbornness of his father. Jack appreciates Philip but can't bring himself to be honest with him. Cue the angst.

It was not a younger brother.

It turned out to be a girl, and Philip's disappointment was _immeasurable._ It was his chance to have a Jack that was actually his age! Younger, even, so that he could bearhug him and teach him and tease him and do all the things an older brother should!

It shouldn't have been surprising when Jack teased Philip when Philip ranted to him about this.

Yeah, so _maybe_ there was another reason Philip wanted a younger brother.

Still, when Jack stopped making fun, he eventually granted Philip the odd advice of "Why don't you write about it?" and Philip supposed that Dad liked to write his way out of everything so Philip totally could too.

But one thing led to another and then one evening Philip found himself rhythmically reciting a poem in front of his father while his mom dropped a beat behind him for some reason.

This did not seem to assist in Philip's dreams to have a younger brother, although when he asked Jack about it Jack responded "Oh, it did." in such a strange manner that befuddled Philip enough to prevent him from asking any more questions. Jack looked oddly dismal about this fact anyway and Philip didn't want to upset him further.

"You can write rhymes..."

"But you can't write MINE!"

"AYYY!"

So instead Philip chose to let Jack sing with him after supper in Philip's bedroom. He seemed happier.

This was at the risk of appearing a madman to Alexander, who stormed in quite furious with the racket. He calmed himself quickly though with a muttered apology.

Jack mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically small, "...he's, not getting enough sleep."

"I'm sorry Dad," Philip scratched his neck, "but, why don't you sit with me...? You've been in that dumb room all day."

"It's for a reason -- you'd do good to address your father's study more respectfully than that." Alexander answered in a forcefully heavy tone, although to Philip's surprise he did come to sit down.

"I'm sorry. I'm just worried. Mom is too."

"...I know." Alexander's dull eyes drifted away as he breathed in and brushed his hair from his eyes. Philip heard Jack sharply inhale from beside him, and he gave him a skeptical glance. It was to no avail as Jack didn't make eye contact.

"Though Eliza's working so often nowadays to take care of your little sister," Alexander pointed out, letting some amusement drift into his tone, as he looked down at Philip sideways and smiled slightly. Philip liked when he did that and wondered if his own smile looked like that. "We all must be pulling our own weight, no?"

"I guess--"

His father shouldered him. "So what good have _you_ been up to recently, hmm?"

"Well..." Philip chuckled awkwardly. Alexander laughed. 

Jack snorted, mumbling something under his breath before speaking teasingly "You're ridiculous, Hamilton, he's done plenty more in _being there for his family_ than your "cold-in-your-professions" ass has been!" 

_What???_ "Um, thanks, but he-- he can't hear you Jack." Philip rolled his eyes, speaking before he realized what he said. 

"...You couldn't simply relay the message, er-- for your friend?" Hamilton inquired with apprehension, and an eyebrow raised skeptically. 

"Oh--" Philip stiffened slightly as his eyes darted towards Jack. Jack's face was warm in the candlelight but now somewhat paler, making the freckles across his nose stand out further. He looked off to the side, granting Philip a reserved shrug. 

Philip fidgeted. He didn't understand. Wouldn't his father be happy to know about him? 

He decisively looked back at Alexander, grinning challengingly as he recited Jack's words (carefully finding a substitution for "ass"). 

His father's reaction was not quite what Philip had expected. 

Alexander had gained an icy cold look, eyes narrowing slightly, while his fingers dug into the mattress. 

_"Pardon?"_

"...uh..." 

"...have you been reading my letters?" 

"...what?" Philip tried to find some sort of ground in glancing at Jack, but got none. "What letters?" 

"This is--" Alexander's shoulders were stiff and squared. "This is a serious matter, Philip, don't jest." he muttered. His face was dark and unreadable. 

"I-I don't intend to!" Philip protested, voice quivering with confusion. But his father was already leaving. 

"Just don't do it again. And I don't want you to bring it up from now on." Alex muttered over his shoulder. 

And so Philip was left there, stunned, and silent in his bewilderment. 

It was quiet. 

"Jack, what the hell was that?!" Philip blurted out, whirling towards the thinner freckled man. His voice was shaking with resent until he saw Jack flinch and make himself smaller. 

His quivering gaze drifted. "I'm sorry." Jack stammered in a strained voice, "I shouldn't have let you say that. It's my fault, I'm a screwup I know, I know--" 

"No, no," Philip reversed hastily, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I just mean-- I-- why was he so upset?" 

Jack managed to meet his gaze. His eyes were heavily veiled. Philip couldn't tell how he was feeling. "What I said, it-- you could think of it like an... inside joke...? One between only the two of us, in our letters, so-- he clearly thought you'd been snooping. And on such a touchy subject..." 

Philip blinked. The lights in the drearily shady room seemed dimmer. Jack stood out like a sore thumb. "Because you-- because he thinks you're dead?" 

"Among other things." He clipped his sentence. 

Philip's brow furrowed as he waited for Jack to go on, but he did not. 

"...Like?" 

"I'd rather not talk about it." 

Philip frowned. He was getting quickly irritated with this game. "Something happened between you two." 

"You could say that I guess." 

"Jack, why won't you just tell me?? I thought we were best friends." 

"Well..." 

And again the rest of Jack's sentence fell. 

"Jack--!!" Philip felt he was nigh blowing over like a tea kettle-- "Do you think I haven't _seen_ the way you--?!" 

There was a call from outside. _"Philip Hamilton! It is far past your bedtime, quit your disturbing Angie!"_

Philip snorted, fixing Jack with a glare before he turned his back to him. He didn't see Jack for the rest of that night. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice squeaked _you're being irrational, stop pushing it, give him space_ but he did not care because his head was buzzing and he was tired and hungry and absolutely fed up with the fact that his own lifetime best friend wouldn't _TRUST HIM!_

He exhaled forcefully and flung himself into the bed, tugging the blankets over his neck. 

It was then, in the quiet of the room, that the evening began to catch up to him, the ringing ceased, and he felt guilt pool in his stomach. But he forced his eyes shut. 

The next morning he was roused by a hand on his shoulder. Philip mumbled in half-hearted protest, rolling to the side. "Mmh... too early Jackie..." 

He opened his eyes when he heard a soft chuckle. That wasn't Jackie. "Wake up, dear," the voice insisted, "my sister's arrived, we must prepare to head upstate." 

"Oh..." Philip sat up to face his mother, blinking. He struggled to process. He never slept in. Jackie was usually first to wake him. 

The memories trickled back slowly, putting a rather unwelcome taste on Philip's tongue. They had all the same sting, but the fire was gone, snuffed out by the fog of sleep. 

Where was he? Philip had to apologize. Where was he??? 

Eliza laughed gently. "Oh, you share the same bedhead as your father." 

"Oh whatever!" he smiled slightly, nudging his mother away. "I-I'll be ready in just a minute!" 

"Alright. Don't keep your guest waiting, now," she insisted as she held her dress and hurried out the door. Philip tilted his head, admiring the elegant air about her. Even in sadness and anger she would never lose such. 

Philip swung his legs from the mattress and stood shakily, stumbling against the wall to steady himself for a squeaky yawn. 

"Jack?" he called softly as he rubbed one of his eyes. He brushed his hair from his eyes. "Jackie, I'm sorry," 

"...where are you?" Philip asked tentatively, frowning. 

Usually Philip did not even have to ask for Jack to show up. 

Perhaps Jack intended to prank him and jump out, or-- well. Perhaps he just needed alone time. 

If that was the case, Philip knew better now than to push him. Philip sighed and pulled on his trousers, running fingers through his messy hair. He would... just have to find him later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: young Philip has squeaky yawns


	9. To be Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip stays with the Schuylers. Also gets acquainted with Angelica.

Eliza's sister was a woman who, despite sharing the name of Philip's sister, looked nothing like Philip's sister. Her skin was dark and her face was strong and she looked like she could lift the entire weight of Eliza and then some. Yet despite this stature she carried herself like any Schuyler, ladylike, with that characteristic elegance.

Philip admired that air about Angelica Schuyler, the one that made anyone listen to her when she spoke, and hoped that it had snuck into his own genes somehow.

When Philip first saw her in the main room, she had her arm around her sister, who was watching Alexander walk back to his study. They wore silent, heavy looks that Philip could not place.

He didn't quite like this atmosphere. He didn't mean to let out a whimper, but--

"Oh-- good morning, Philip." Eliza glanced over at him. Angelica followed her gaze, and gave him a warmer smile.

Philip walked up. "What happened Mum?"

"Nothing of importance, dear..."

But Eliza had barely enough time to finish her sentence before Philip hugged her tightly and nuzzled her. "It'll be okay."

He heard Eliza huff fondly, running her fingers through his hair, while Angelica made an odd noise with a "What a thoughtful little gentleman!"

Philip scoffed, stepping back to fold his arms and look up at Angelica. She may have been tall but Philip could be louder. "I'm not little, not anymore."

Angelica let out a great big laugh and Philip changed his mind about being louder. But he tried not to let it show. "I don't mean anything by it of course. You've certainly grown, haven't you?"

Philip blinked. "Have we met?"

Eliza ruffled Philip's hair. "She came to see you when you were just a toddler. Do remember your manners," she spoke somewhat teasingly, a glimmer in her eye. Philip playfully pouted at her but in truth was glad to see that sunny side of her back.

"Right, well it's a pleasure, miss Schuyler," he composed himself rather cynically, bringing Angelica's hand to his lips.

Angelica chuckled down at him, waving her other hand as if shooing away a fly. "Oh, just call me Angelica."

Philip gave a short-lived smile, about to ask if Alex were coming before he decisively caught himself and clumsily turned it into "What about Angie? I mean, is Angie coming with us?"

"She will." Eliza answered. "I would not like to leave your father without company," she sighed, with a hand over her heart, "but I fear he may not be able to look after her adequately with his nose so buried in his work." Philip noticed Angelica's face gain a dark intricately layered expression.

"Oh... so he's not coming." Philip mumbled to himself.

"Why don't you go grab her?" Angelica suggested, her voice dim and purposeful. "I can catch up with Philip."

Eliza gave a nod and a stiff smile before hurrying off.

Philip looked up at Angelica, meeting those heavy eyes and sighing. He found himself blurting out "Everything's gonna be okay right? I heard them arguing the other day. It's like everyone's growing farther apart."

He flinched, disliking how quickly he seemed to seek the comfort of who was to him a stranger. But to his surprise there was no laughing, or teasing, or coddling.

Angelica simply rested a hand upon his shoulder, speaking quietly, firmly, "Any family may go through periods of tension in such tumultuous times as these. It's not easy, your father may struggle to find a balance in his lifestyle." She sighed. "Overambitious as always."

Was that supposed to be criticism or praise? Philip couldn't tell. This woman really was a mystery.

She did not appear to be like Aaron Burr, though. She projected herself fully and strongly. She... simply controlled it.

Angelica was leading Philip towards the doorway. He followed willingly, his wariness melting away.

"Do you want to know the truth?"

Philip nodded, quietly adding a "Please..." in courtesy.

"It might never feel easy." She stepped outside, letting the sun wash over her features. "Things all change on their own accord, they won't wait for you to catch up. But there is one thing you have control over and that's you. So you must stay strong." Her words seemed so heavy that Philip had to still for a moment to let them sink in, and he didn't see how she could let them slip off her tongue so casually.

Philip watched her sit on the porch stairs, smoothing out her frilled dress. She looked up at Philip and patted the space next to her.

Philip hesitantly approached and squatted. "...I don't think I know how to be strong."

Angelica smiled. "Oh, you will. No one really realizes how strong they are until it is tested." She tilted her head, and took Philip's chin in her hand, turning his face toward hers. "If you're askin' me Pip? I think you already know how to be strong."

Philip blinked. He smiled slightly.

He decided he liked Angelica.

They continued to converse for a little bit after that, waiting for Eliza and Angie. Thankfully they receded to more casual topics. 

Angelica was the oldest of her sisters, and apparently lived in London with her husband, though she spoke little of him. Philip convinced himself not to ask why, remembering Jack. He didn't want to lose such a valuable friend so soon simply by running his mouth off.

Eliza returned shortly with Angie in her arms. She was a petite lively little girl, though Philip didn't bother to go see her often, and she mostly stayed in the old nursery where Philip used to sleep.

Still Philip was glad to not be the youngest when they went up to his grandfather's house. He likely would've found dinner even more awkward than it was. His grandfather, with whom Philip shared his name, was a man worn by age but polished by wealth, and Philip avoided conversing him for the most part because he wasn't sure how to speak casually with such a man.

Not to mention the mansion he lived in, which was decorated so ostentatiously Philip felt like he dirtied the place just by stepping in the front door.

After dinner the evening was relatively quiet. The Schuylers were talking in hushed tones about things Philip didn't entirely understand. So he retreated to the guest room where he willed himself to fall asleep.

He eventually did, but it was uneasy, despite the comfortable bedding and the warm stuffed feeling that set in after dinnertime. Nothing was fully distracting him from worrying about Jack.

Jackie had better be okay.

Philip was told they would be staying for about a few weeks. They would've stayed longer but Eliza didn't want to spend so much time away from her husband. Still, it felt like an eternity had abruptly stretched out before Philip. He almost instantly sought ways to pass the time.

He would scrawl doodles and notes across his journal, watch out the window, sing with his mother and his aunt in the living room until Philip Schuyler came to scold them. He would sit with Angie and snicker at her babbling, while coaxing her around the room and playing peekaboo. There was no way he was this dumb when he was a child.

Eliza swiftly berated him when he said this out loud, so he decided not to think such anymore.

The first Thursday afternoon since they arrived, Angelica suggested they all head to the park. She managed to convince her father to come by allowing him to look after Angie (Philip had learned he had a soft spot for the little one). 

Philip was ecstatic at the opportunity to get some fresh air, so he went very willingly. The place was surprisingly quiet, but Philip loved it. It made his worries and fatigue seem small. It made the birdsong even more pretty, which was perfectly accompanying the golden summer rays reflecting upon the water of the nearby lake.

He quickly grasped Eliza's hand when he saw the lake and rushed over, laughing while dragging her along. Eliza wore a smile too as did Angelica following a few steps behind.

Philip skidded at the edge, his shoes digging into the mud. Eliza's hand slipped from his; he allowed Angelica and Eliza to retreat and sit at a nearby bench.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Angelica piped up. "You don't see many like this one."

"Really pretty." Philip nodded fervently, sitting down at the water's edge. 

"Don't get your coat too dirty," Eliza warned.

"I won't." he shrugged while reaching for stones to skip. The ladies behind him fell into comfortable chatter, and so Philip's mind was allowed to wander.

He wondered about Jack, and about Alexander at home, hoping desperately that they were okay, wondered how Philip Schuyler came to develop such a fondness for little ones like Angie. He wondered if his father was having any luck with his plan, if he still quarreled with that dumbass named Thomas Jefferson. 

He wondered about that girl named Theo, wondered if he might see her one day but still found himself shying away from the idea of writing any letters. It made him think of Aaron Burr, and Philip still wasn't a huge fan of Aaron Burr.

At least, that was probably it.

Philip sighed, rolling his eyes. _Okaaay,_ he should probably think about writing when he got back.

He let the topic slip from his mind while he tossed another stone. He wasn't hesitant. Philip Hamilton knew better than to let hesitance take him.

Though--

It was hard to think this with a resolve when he was so far from home, surrounded by such an unfamiliar environment, and worrying deeply about his friend and his father.

He knew grudgingly that he'd normally be rambling his head off, just like Alexander, boasting of all his accomplishments to his grandfather. But--

"Hey. You good?"

Philip blinked, raising his head. 

And in less than a heartbeat he had flung himself to his feet and barreled towards the speaker, trapping him in a tight hug while letting out a breathy laugh, giving the poor freckled man only enough reaction time to sputter "wAAH--"

_"Jackie!!!"_ Philip exclaimed gleefully, just about ready to burst, "Where the hell were you?! How could you worry me like that?!"

"Hey, hey, watch the language around your family, bud!" came the reply, only making Philip laugh more, and "Maybe don't attack me while your mom's _right over there?"_

This sobered him. He stepped back, letting Jack go, glancing around, and realizing Eliza and her sister had risen from the bench to pace around a nearby pathway. 

"..."

Philip looked up at Jack, giving him a small smile. "Must've been hard to catch me when no one would see and think me crazy, huh?"

"Perhaps." Jack regarded him collectedly but slyly. "But not hard to predict you'd try to bearhug me like a maniac."

"Hah, yeah right, you were spooked outta your mind!" Philip laughed. Jack rolled his eyes as he ruffled Philip's hair. Philip swatted Jack's hand away, giving him an indignant pout. 

The two sat down by the lake in such sync that they might as well have been one. Philip sighed as he spoke, "Man, I missed you."

Jack watched the sky, scratching his neck. "And me you." He must have noticed Philip's doubtful expression for he added "...even if I didn't want to think I did. I just-- I had-- when I heard you were going to visit your grandfather, and Alex was staying, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take that time to myself -- maybe keep Alex whatever company I could -- and... and just try not to bother you and fuck things up again-- you know...?"

Philip was registering his words quietly. He flinched.

"...Listen, Jackie, I'm sorry about yelling--"

Jackie waved him off. "Don't worry, I probably shouldn't have been so sensitive. You were right to be upset, I really should've..."

Philip frowned as Jack continued. His words were starting to blend together inelegantly.

He quickly interrupted, "Jack."

Jackie paused, amber eyes darting towards Philip with alarm. It was the first time since they reunited that Philip fully took in the appearance of his friend. His eyes were dim, his shoulders, his hands were all stiffened and it looked as if he had forgotten how to smile.

Philip did not like it. He made a note to ask him about it later.

"...You have to stop it,"

"What?"

"Stop blaming yourself." Philip insisted, his voice strained with concern and a sudden maturity. "Everything that goes wrong you keep saying you were dumb, that you probably coulda done better. It's not always your fault..."

Jack appeared weakly defensive. "I..."

"It's what's letting people like me get to you and close you off for days," he continued, voice breaking slightly as the guilt weighed in on him.

"I guess." Jack's fingernails dug into the legs of his trousers. Philip recognized that distant deprecative look in the poor man's eyes that he seemed to gain whenever Philip comforted him as such.

"Just go easy on yourself more, Jackie." Philip tried to intertwine a quiet chuckle in his words, softening his gaze.

"...You... lecture like your father does..." came the odd reply that only Jack could give, before Jack finally met Philip's gaze and matched his chuckle.

Philip beamed. "Hey! There's the Jack I know!"

Jack scoffed, turning his weakly amused gaze back to the water. "Whatever." he drawled.

Philip stood. "You're tired. I'm getting Eliza to take us home and then you can tell me what all happened in our absence." He offered Jack a hand. There seemed a flicker of something in Jack's eyes at Philip's words -- apprehension? -- but it was hard not to dismiss.

"You could at least say please." Jack rebuked with a playful smirk, taking his hand.

"Watch it or I'll send you to time out," Philip shot back with a giggle.

Jack elbowed him affectionately as they approached Eliza and Angelica on the path, and Philip's giggle bubbled into a laugh.

Thank God Jack was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very great or patient with angst fics, honestly, so miscommunication-related conflicts like this won't last long. Hope that doesn't undermine the tension, but rest assured there will still be your fair share of conflict later on :)
> 
> (Is a smile emote even appropriate with that sentence?)


	10. That Familiar Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had many of these prewritten, but I had to swap things around so that the flow made a little bit more sense, which is part of why this chapter is a bit short and uneventful. Hope it still works though, feel free to offer feedback!

That night, Angelica arranged for a dinner at the table, and Jack joined them for the first time. It was hard not to admire how they conversed and laughed so naturally. 

Jack did not get the pleasure of such wholehearted reunions in his old home.

Philip's grandfather retired from the dining table early to put Angie to bed. Jack and Eliza were left to watch as Angelica and Philip engaged in a rather heated discussion... on whether cats or dogs were better.

The two were quite destructive forces when not contained, Jack recognized, not unlike how he and his old friends used to be. Man, did he miss those two.

He appreciated how Angelica could get Philip out of his shell so quickly. It wasn't often that a stranger could skip the "warming up" stage when it came to meeting Philip.

Jack recognized the same judgmental and brash tendencies of Philip's father, although, Alexander evidently had a little less inhibition.

A terrible weight settled in his gut.

Less inhibition. Evidently.

"You okay Jack?" Philip whispered, and Jack jumped.

"What? What's going on?"

Philip raised an eyebrow, with a look akin to something like _"Really."_

"I was just thinking, okay?" Jack met the teenager's gaze in a rather playfully miffed manner. He forced a smile. "It's not like I can really participate in your dinner table conversations."

Philip grinned, showing teeth. "Then you'll be happy to know it's been over for five minutes, dummy!" He elbowed Jack from where he stood beside his chair.

"You're one to talk," Jack muttered, grudgingly rising from his seat, though he couldn't stop himself from chuckling slightly.

"That's no way to talk to your younger brother," Philip stuck out his tongue.

John blinked, suddenly severely disoriented. "...Brother?"

Old memories threatened to resurface. They tasted like cold distance and disappointment. John had to drop his gaze to his toes to stop himself from wincing.

"Well, I used to think of you as an uncle, but it's different now that I'm older. Even though I do respect you as an elder and all that. I think you're my brother now. I mean not biologically obviously. But we do bunch of dumb sibling stuff, I just think it fits don't you? Why, did you have any siblings in the past?"

John blinked a couple times, catching up with the conversation. Somewhere in the middle of it all Philip had started dragging him to the guest room.

"...was I rambling?" Philip spoke after John had rifled through possible responses for a half a minute, clearly to no avail.

Jack sighed, meeting Philip's gaze knowing that a teasing fondness glimmered in his eyes. "You realize I am _many_ years ahead of you in age."

Philip blinked. "Well brothers are like that sometimes." And then, mischievously, "...besides, you don't act like it."

Jack almost laughed. "Well, I suppose your wit makes you seem many years older as well."

This clearly pleased the boy, judging by how each of his steps gained a slight bounce while he tugged Jack into the guest room by his wrist and shut the door. "Right. So we're brothers." He looked up at Jack with a somewhat earnest expression. "You never told me if you were doing okay.”

"Oh..." John let his gaze wander as he swung around clumsily to lean against the doors of a polished wardrobe. A streetlight from outside cast cinematic light on his face through the window, and he stretched out the silence. "...I’m fine, well-- it's not that important."

Philip sighed, plopping back on the bedsheets with his hands on his lap. "Do you think I bear hugged you in the park because you were "not that important"?" John shrank away. "I’m not-- I mean-- ugh--” He shook his head, clearly struggling. “I’m not going to push you, like… last time, but-- you _can_ talk to me you know.”

Jack felt his mouth was dry. "Alright, alright, I-- I owe you, anyway." He looked away and shrugged. The motion tossed a couple unkempt curls over his shoulder. "I was just worrying. Over… over your father. Not that it’s anything dire!” he sputtered quickly, noticing painfully the panic that arose in his friend.

"...Did something happen?" Philip said instead, brow furrowed. Clearly he was insistent not to let Jack’s discomfort slide.

"I-- well-- something. Your father worked his ass off and it did his mental state no favors." Jack very gingerly stepped towards Philip and spun on his heel to fall exhausted against the bed next to him. "He's… okay," he spoke quietly as Philip shifted nervously against him, "just tired, and... weak. Not very fun... to see him like that."

Philip leaned comfortingly against him. "...That's not the whole story though,"

Jack met Philip's gaze, anxious. "I don't know, I hope it is."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"A woman found our door before I left. Said she'd been mistreated by her husband."

"...and?"

"She was gorgeous, but desperate. Alex was tired and weak and that's not a good combination." Jack explained evasively.

Philip wrinkled his nose as he listened, his dark eyes glimmering with confusion. "Are you..." Some reluctant realization dawned on him, while he recoiled. "...No."

Jack decided to remain quiet.

"No, my father wouldn't do that, Jack." Philip gave a very slight smile. "Not with some stranger wandering up to the door, are you going mad? You're worrying over nothing. That wouldn't happen."

Jack watched the boy, fidgeting. Philip was pale from the light outside. His shimmering eyes held veiled desperation. 

Jack breathed in and swallowed, letting his gaze dart away. Sure, it wasn't like he had... stayed, to confirm (he wouldn't have been able to stomach that), but the knowledge that Alex very well might-- that he might--

It stung, it was stinging. Jack knew that fucking sting well enough already, given Alexander’s marriage with Eliza. Never satisfied. He sure as hell didn’t need something like this to remind him of that sting. And to Philip... he was not sure how to articulate any of this, much less when he struggled to process it himself.

"..."

That look of Philip's stung. 

"...Yeah. You're right." Jack let a small smirk on his face, struggling to lighten the mood persistently against the moon which scowled down at them. "Your father is strong just like you." He didn't care how much it weighed down on him, he would not let his little brother be scared.

Philip was quiet for a heartbeat, before he gave Jack a toothy smile. "That's right." He hugged Jack around his neck. "Stop being so worried, you need to rest."

Jack's huff became a baffled chuckle. He had nearly forgotten Philip was the one reassuring Jack. "Of course. But that means this little prodigy's gotta get sleep too." He nudged Philip away, ruffling his hair.

Philip snorted. "I'm not little."

Jack stood from the bed, looking down at Philip with exaggeration and smirking. Proving his point.

Philip stuck out his tongue, swinging his legs up onto the bedsheets and scooting against the pillows. “You just wait for my growth spurt!” he barked while Jack exited.

And Jack laughed, feeling a warm amusement creep back in -- one that he almost forgot.

Thank God Philip was okay.


	11. A Stranger

_Philip Hamilton,_

_It's been a very long while since I first heard of you... Well, in truth, I overheard Father speaking of you and I just had to learn more. They said you would send a letter in the near future -- hmph, they said that months ago -- and Father keeps telling me to be patient, but I can't keep simply waiting like he so passionately implores me to do!_

_So I'm going to get this letter to my mother, and I really do dearly apologize if it reaches you at an inconvenient time, but I simply must know of you, and what you do, and what it is like to grow up in the former colonies. Is it true that your father is the Secretary? You must be such a lucky well-educated boy!_

_And pardon me, I don't mean to be pushy, but I hardly talk to anyone here -- you must know, the people are terribly dull and blunt and curt! -- and I find alleged life in that city so fascinating. Tell me it's not so boring like it is in this small town?_

_Eagerly awaiting your reply,_

_Theodosia Burr_

Philip skimmed the words for the third time, face twisted in a sort of skeptical frown. He didn't know what he expected when he woke up that lovely Friday morning, when Eliza rushed over with a great big smile to nudge a letter into his hands, but it certainly wasn't… this.

The words were not sharp and elegant like Mom's, nor were they rushed and purposeful like Dad's, or even small and compact like Aaron Burr's; rather, the cursive bounced around the page and called out to him in such a lively insistent manner that Philip wouldn't be surprised if they leapt straight off the page and paraded around the room dancing and taunting him.

Philip scoffed. He didn't like taunts.

But the rest was almost charming. And he would be lying to himself if he tried to deny the kernel of guilt manifested inside of him, making this girl wait so long.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Theodosia, huh?"

Philip looked quickly over his shoulder at Jackie, flinging curls over his own side. "What's it to you wise guy?"

Jack laughed. "Bud, you made her so impatient _she_ contacted _you._ Theodosia. _The_ daughter of Aaron Burr. You know, Mr. "Wait-For-It"?"

"Shut up..." he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he faced his friend, who only leaned back with his arms folded teasingly. Jack's eye glinted. It was a mighty struggle just trying not to slap him. "I didn't know you knew Aaron."

"Ha... I knew him before even your father." Jackie explained, examining his fingernails while the sunlight weaved through his chestnut-colored hair. It made Philip glad, how Jack was back to his confident, casual self in such little time. "Doesn't mean I knew a lot about him though... I mean, you know him..."

Philip huffed. "Sure." He shouldered past Jack, walking briskly down the hall towards the desk in the front room. "That's the problem though. I get that it's necessary to be secretive sometimes, but that guy doesn't tell anyone _anything."_ He waved his hand in an exasperated gesture, and drawled, "Why would I make friends with someone who thinks their pretty little standards are waaay too high to tell me anything about themselves?"

Jack, on Philip's heels, tilted his head. He stretched, showing off the freckles on his arms. "Well, she's clearly not like that." He gained a somewhat firm look. "You'd do good not to judge people solely based on their ancestry."

"...Why's that?" Philip prodded, eyes darting towards him. He hesitantly agreed the statement cornered him with its logicality, but he also knew a statement like that was... built on something. It always was, with Jack.

Jack blinked for a couple times, opening and closing his mouth. Philip sensed the imminent _"It's not important"_ and he narrowed his eyes slightly in what he hoped looked like _"Don't even try..."_

So Jack gave in, sighing as he surprised Philip with the answer "'Cause it was pretty damn annoying when people wouldn't shut up about _my_ father."

Philip blinked. "Your father?"

"Henry Laurens, he was a senator in South Carolina for some time. We were family, of course. But we didn't always see eye to eye and his name followed me like a ball and chain." Jack muttered.

"Oh... huh." Philip remained silent for a moment, before he smiled slightly. "Hey look, you shared something about yourself! That wasn't so hard."

"Yeah yeah." Jackie elbowed Philip, a smirk painting his lips. "Let's just get you writing this letter back."

Philip blinked, pausing in his tracks. "You're _not_ going to watch me write it."

Jack shrugged. "I'm gonna proofread it."

"No!"

"Why not?" Jack chuckled joyously, shoving his hands in his pockets. "If you inherited even a fraction of your father's writing, you'd scare off _anyone_ who received an unrevised letter from you."

Philip sputtered dramatically. "Oh, and from all those shady letters between you two, you'd know, huh??"

"Wh--" He had frozen.

"It's my own business." Philip said, giggling, pleased to have shaken him, "...but, if you really wanted to see, I'll let you."

Jack's gaze was averted. "It's fine." he muttered curtly, "I was mostly joking anyway."

Philip pulled out the desk chair at the corner of the room, where a tall shaded lamp poured warm yellow light across the walls. He reached for a quill, while his eyes flicked towards Jack. "...Will you ever tell me what happened between you and him?"

Jack met Philip's gaze, with an expression that Philip severely couldn't place. His eyes held such anxious intensity that Philip felt like he might shatter the man into pieces if he kept looking at him. "...Eventually..."

Jack sighed, dropping his gaze and sitting on the floor. "...eventually..." he repeated quietly.

Philip watched him as a silence set over the room, faintly feeling guilty for bringing it up. But he still felt that desperate curiosity pricking at him.

He dismissed it and turned, drafting a letter back.

_Miss Theodosia Burr,_

_Truthfully I guess I was reluctant to write before but your persistence deserves a response. I can't believe you would wait so long, it must be infuriating... So you know what, I'll make it worth it._

_It's true, my father used to fight in the war before George Washington himself appointed him as Secretary of Treasury, but if you think that's impressive just you wait. I'm gonna do everything he did and more!_

_That's the best part of living in this city. You get to rise up and prove yourself and you're surrounded by people who want to do the same. I bet you'd love it here._

_I mean, I guess I wouldn't really know because I don't know you well. I mean, I apologize, this is probably rude... But I always assumed you were like your dad. Who is a nice man! But we didn't really see eye to eye and my father hasn't seemed to get along well with him lately. So now you've sent me a really friendly letter, and I just don't know how to respond to that so I'm sorry if it's weird and awkward. ~~I've never really done this befor~~_

_But ~~I really would like to~~ if you wanna get to know each other better I think that would be nice. You don't have to write me back though. I mean I kept you waiting so long, I could probably use a taste of my own medicine couldn't I?_

_P. Hamilton_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theodosia's character and the development of her interaction with Philip will be completely and wholly made up by me (with some inspiration from other fics, potentially) so I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it!
> 
> It's the start of a fun ride folks :P


	12. The Flustered Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some worrying, some pining, and last but not least, some ~~shyness~~ _total smooth confidence._ Totally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a transitional chapter, not too much happening, it's just necessary for the rest of the plot. The sibling-like bonding and (eventual) bonus should make up for it, I hope :)

The rest of their stay at Philip Schuyler's house was uneventful but lovely. Jack could tell Philip was itching to get out, go somewhere, do something, so much so that when he thought no one was looking he'd sprint in laps around the yard and throw paper airplanes.

Philip was still Alexander's son, and Jack felt that nothing would satiate him until he was able to plunge into his education and start making a change.

Angelica, however, was surprisingly skilled at keeping him occupied most days. She led him and Angie out into the streets to walk and tell them stories of her childhood. Philip even allowed her to write with him a couple times and they supplied strong conflicting ideas and beliefs so quickly and passionately that sometimes the process seemed more destructive than creative.

Still Jack's favorite moment in that house was watching Philip, Angelica, and Eliza write a letter to Alexander together. They were laughing and grinning at each other and making so many witty comments, Jack wondered severely how a single family could be brimming with so much sunlight as this.

Sometimes, he wondered what it may be like to join them. But he ushered off the distant sense of loneliness with a surprising ease. Perhaps it was because Philip was happy.

Jack had to be a good guardian angel, after all. He... wasn't here for himself.

Besides, every evening after supper Philip would return to his room dragging Jack with him to talk and laugh and poke fun, always insistently assuring him in his actions that Philip had not forgotten him. And it did not seem like Philip ever planned to.

So, of course, the trouble had to start when they started heading home.

"Angie-- sweetie, please--!"

Eliza was struggling to chase Angie down as she stumbled across the living room, and once she finally captured the girl (with some help from Philip), Angie let out a cry of protest so intense that Jack flinched.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Angie, we're going home..."

The little girl's response, between her wails and babbles, sounded something like "Noo, nooo!! It's co-zy! Wanna stay here!!!"

Jack watched Philip's eyes flick between the two, glimmering with some dismal emotion that was difficult to fully place. "...I'll go get your bags Mom." Philip suggested, stepping away from Angie who swatted at him.

Eliza flashed him a grateful smile, one that looked odd on her face, for her dull eyes were painfully reflecting her exhaustion restraining Angie.

When Philip swiftly turned on his heel and hurried down the hallway, folding his arms somewhat reclusively, Jack followed very closely and his gaze wandered around the intricately decorated corridor. Somehow, as the date of leaving drew closer, the place had seemed more and more wondrous, while their home in New York seemed more small and claustrophobic -- and made freezing cold by the distance of Philip's father. And... Jack looked to Philip, and that distant quiet look in his eye. He had a feeling it was the same for Philip.

"Hey bud, you holding up?" Jack set a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Philip started slightly, looking quickly to Jack. He tried to soften his gaze but it didn't really work, nor did that stiff smile of his. "Holding up."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What's on your mind?"

Philip turned his gaze back forward. "Everything." He nudged his way into Eliza's guest room. The door creaked open, welcoming him to the sight of such a prim and proper space that Philip appeared to wince. Must have been a reminder he was leaving it all. "I mean, I just really wish Dad could've been here. And it really sucks seeing little Angie so upset, and Eliza so tired, and Angelica," he groaned, putting a hand to his forehead as he faced one of the walls. "I'm gonna have to say goodbye to Angelica."

Jack gave a small sigh and a dearly empathetic smile. He placed a hand on Philip's wrist, coaxing him towards Eliza's luggage bag on the side of her bed. "It's more like see-you-later. Like, next Summer. Your father might even have time to go, if he gets a break from his work in Congress by then." He shrugged. "And you can always write."

"Guess so." Philip stooped to grab the bag by its strap and lug it over his shoulder. Jack was waiting for Philip to exit when the boy paused for a moment, and glanced up at him suddenly looking small. "...Do you think Theo's gonna write me back?"

Jack bit back a snort. First girl the kid meets...

"Don't worry, bud, 'course she will. Some people know it's disrespectful to keep a friend waiting."

"I--" Philip grumbled frustrated before it turned to a self-deprecative groan and he threw his head back dramatically. "That's the _point_ , though, Jack, why would she want to write back to an asshole like me?"

"I didn't take you to be an easily flustered type."

"I'm not!" Philip sputtered.

Jack smirked down at him as he led him out the doorway. "Then relax." He let a little more sincerity into his tone. "There's no way she's the type to hold a grudge. It'll be fine."

Philip dropped his gaze to the floor. "...Okay." He stepped a little closer to Jack. "Alright."

With all of this having occurred, they ended up returning home in New York terribly late in the evening, so that when Alexander greeted them at the door and embraced them tightly (Jack definitely wasn't disappointed that he couldn't get a hug too) he was so terribly fatigued that he went to collapse into bed nearly immediately after meeting with them. Eliza followed, that is, after giving Philip a kiss on the forehead.

So Philip was left alone in the house at dusk, putting little Angie to bed while Jack stayed by his side.

That night in Philip's room, Philip crumpled into an embrace with Jack who held him as he wept quietly. Jack was not even sure why Philip had cried, and Philip insistently refused to talk about it afterwards, but Jack assumed the whole night was just a little too much for the poor boy.

Well, that was alright. Philip might resent him fierily afterwards (for pure childlike shame that Jack had even witnessed him vulnerable). But if his "brother" needed comfort, whatever it took, Jack was damn well willing to give it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I put a total number of chapters in the summary. It may change still but this is what my rough outline looks like so far. Expect to be dipping into some angst, touching on the other events that are outlined in the musical, and developing some relationships further before we get to reach the _climax..._ [insert dramatic stinger]
> 
> (Wow wonder what event that could be :P)
> 
> It honestly came out to be way longer than I realized it would be, but I'm still all in and dedicated so far, so hopefully everyone else is too!


	13. A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not always gonna upload these "bonuses" so long after the main chapter updates, I swear-- today was just a bit of a long day. There was no way I was gonna leave you guys out on some good old Philip and Theodosia though! Enjoy!

_"P. Hamilton",_

_The nerve of you! Here I was thinking you'd reasonably forgotten! Perhaps I should not bother sending this letter to you!_

_Of course I only jest. Your hesitance was honestly really understandable. My dad told me to "be careful around a Hamilton". He doesn't like your family much... but I truly fail to see why._

_You certainly do not intimidate me._

_And the charm of your formal writing! It makes me self-conscious -- perhaps I should address myself as such? T. Burr? I'm not sure it looks quite as good as yours._

_Anyhow, you could not fathom how despicable this morning was for me. I could not bear to rise from bed, much less assist my mother with her cooking. Especially with how much my father pushes me to study these days. All until I was given your letter, and well, the skies were a little more blue from then on. But that's not the only thing. Father tells me he plans to move us all the way to New York in the coming months -- isn't that so exciting? Such opportunities I should have there! Perhaps even to meet you properly?_

_Don't get too nervous, of course, it will be a while till we move. So we should expect plenty of correspondence before then. Father says he has great plans for his political pursuits and Mother wants to accompany him. But he has yet to get them into motion. Whatever they are... He refuses to speak of them until he knows he can carry them out._

_I know he can seem closed off and rude, but he has his reasons. Still I promise I won't prove to be the same matter... as long as you maintain the decency of your first impression, that is!_

_"Miss Theodosia"_

In the coming months, Philip often found himself wrinkling his nose at Theo's letters. They were rollercoasters of rapidly swapping tones that he couldn't keep up for the life of himself.

What the hell did Theo think of him? A truly equal friend, or an admirable student? A threat? Or a child? A cute target of taunting and teasing? Perhaps that was it. She-- she _toyed_ with him, and mischievously tried to guess at his reactions. The notion provoked a festering sense of humiliation and resentfulness within him. Philip bit at his fingernails. He could not let Theo think of him that way. He needed to set things straight.

Although -- the thought that his letters brought joy to this strange girl so far away, during cold and dull mornings -- he found it stirring a sort of odd fuzzy feeling.

But Philip shook it away adamantly, steeling himself to begin writing in as much of an assertive fashion as he could possibly muster.

_Theodosia Burr,_

_If my letters can bring that sort of happiness you'll be glad to know I plan on writing for as long as you remain in Connecticut. I'm not sure you realize how similar you are to your father in that (between your bubbly writing and numerous mixed messages) you're truly something of an enigma. And so I intend fully on figuring you out before any face-to-face meeting takes place. Mark my words!_

_And not only that, but I think I ought to clear some things up, because you appear strangely misled -- okay, so, my experience in these matters might be limited, but I'm not gonna let that affect my performance, and much less by making me nervous! If our interactions should make you think anything of me you should think of me as a strong equal ally and nothing less and I will endeavor diligently to make that the case. And expect me to think of you the same._

_Speaking of, you say you study extensively? I know of few ladies in New York who do the same, not that I mean to criticize you on the matter -- I just think it's fascinating. What areas do you focus on? My father insists I educate myself thoroughly in law to follow in his footsteps (as if I should do anything less than exceed them!) but I branch out to many other areas as well. So I'm curious to know what it is like in your world._

_Let me know, okay? Promise I won't keep you waiting anymore._

_Philip Hamilton_

An enigma, huh?

Theodosia liked this.

She liked how curiously the boy wrote, as if testing the water and leaping in at the same time. Perhaps it was what Father was referring to when he warned Theodosia of the Hamiltons: an unpredictable, impulsive bunch whose words get them into trouble.

But for Theo, this was such an odd conclusion, because it took only a few letters until she felt she knew this boy inside and out. A casual friend, a hardworking student. Capable of assertive wit and fiery fluster, both in equal measure. 

Theodosia rolled over onto her stomach (for she laid back on her messy bed that morning, nose in Philip's letters), and stuck her tongue out slightly as she reached for a piece of paper to reply with. Their correspondence-- their _friendship_ was a valley of opportunity, of multiple winding branching paths, and Theo knew from that moment on that she would explore every single one.


	14. Let it Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An echo of the cut scene from the musical, only now Philip's a little older.

In the months that followed, Alexander was clearly getting increasingly frustrated with his work in Congress, and though Eliza was insisting he spend more time with his family, soon enough it was like nothing had changed at all since they came back from Philip Schuyler's house.

Though this came with an odd (but not unwelcome) side effect. That was, Philip had begun taking an almost impressively more dominant role in the household. 

He took care of Angie and helped Eliza teach her as she grew more and more. He greeted visitors at the door and set tables and assisted his mother wherever possible. There was no better feeling than watching Angie grow more fond of Philip as they spent more time together.

In Eliza and himself, and even in Alexander, he was sure, a pride brimmed within ever increasing.

No, that was -- _especially_ in Alexander. 

He'd even let the boy into his study nowadays, where otherwise only Eliza would enter (to give him news or insist he come to dinner or something or other). Jack would stand aside contentedly (and try to make Philip laugh) as Philip gushed about everything he'd do, between watching his father write, or even revising his letters. Alexander would listen, give advice. Sigh, as the ambition and fondness and pride in his ~~breathtaking~~ eyes glowed past his tired demeanor. 

The problem was, in the midst of all this, Philip was starting to invest more and more time in his schoolwork. In only a few years he would be planning to attend King's College, and that meant waking up earlier, going to sleep earlier, studying in late hours and leaving little time for much else. Alexander himself seemed to be taking extra measures to make sure Philip was sticking to his schedule. 

Despite his siblings’ protests -- especially those of Angie -- Philip was so diligently focusing on getting ahead on his writing these days that he didn't have much time for the others.

And so the situation presented itself that the household suddenly had two Alexanders.

In the living room most afternoons, though, Philip still endeavored to sit with Jack and Eliza and Angie delightfully conversing past academic journals and newspapers.

Philip would mumble, "I'm just working to graduate college, Ma. And after that, I'll save up to buy you a big old house of gold," And he would lean towards his tired mother and smile gently. Eliza returned with a soft sigh and a smile to match as she set a hand on her son's wrist.

One afternoon Philip was sitting back reading the paper while Jack pressed up against him like a clingy puppy, eyes darting across the pages.

His wandering gaze halted. "Wait."

Philip glanced up at Jack and raised an eyebrow, refraining from speaking out loud in front of Eliza (Philip didn't want anyone thinking him childish for having an "imaginary friend" these days).

Jack leaned over Philip's shoulder, underlining a headline. Philip's eyes widened as he skimmed the words _“War Hero Philip Schuyler in danger of losing Senate seat to rapidly popularizing upstart Aaron Burr.”_

"Oh shi--" Philip sputtered out loud, "I uh, _shoot."_

Angie blurted out giggling "No-no word!!!" Philip swatted playfully at the child while Eliza turned towards him.

"What's the matter?"

Philip cleared his throat as his gaze flicked to his mother. "Grandpa's seat has been taken."

"In the Senate? Truthfully?" Eliza's eyes widened slightly and she leaned in, abandoning an old book with faded pages at her lap. 

"Yeah," he continued, brushing his thumb across the article title, "by none other than our Mr. Burr." 

Jack noticed the slight scowl on Philip's face, and nudged him slightly, which made it dissipate. Jack smirked, knowing that Philip's resentment for the man had simmered down somewhat after Theo started sending letters.

Philip grumbled under his breath as he looked very briefly to Jack through narrowed eyes. Jack flashed him an innocent grin.

Eliza's features were grave, with masked concern -- though she raised her head to meet her son's eye and then it melted away.

"I like to think perhaps my father will get more rest now."

Philip stuttered with surprise, "But isn't Mr. Burr going to use this as an attack?"

"Burr works to survive. Not to slander. Your father might do the same, should the consequences present themselves," Then a look of apprehension abruptly fell across her face and she breathed in sharply. "Your father-- we should find him, he went out this morning--"

"He's... going to take it more personally than me, won't he." Philip concluded for Eliza, while the realization glimmered in his wide eyes. He gained a small smile brimming with nervous, baffled adrenaline. "W-we gotta prevent a _homicide!"_

Jack liked to think he was joking, but at the same time, they spoke on the matter of _Alexander Hamilton._

A small horribly fond smirk snuck onto his lips while he averted his gaze. Some things never changed, it seemed.

Philip did not notice, for he was standing and offering her mother a hand. "C'mon, Ma. We'll find them downtown."

Angie frowned, folding her arms. "Why you gotta leave so soon?" She puffed out her cheeks indignantly. "Philip don't even come hang out with us that often anymore."

"Promise I'll eat breakfast with you tomorrow, Angie." Philip grinned down at his sister, stooping down to press a kiss to her forehead. 

Jack's heart wrenched. He did that to Philip once. God, he was so young then...

Jack closed his eyes, letting the reality of the situation wash over him. Philip would not be needing him much longer, he should presume...

His thoughts were interrupted by Angelica blowing raspberries at her brother. "Fiiine."

Eliza chuckled warmly. "I think we should make haste, Philip. Be good, won't you Angelica?"

In the background of their exchange Philip shot Jack a look while he stopped by the front door to get his boots. He gestured to Angie with a tilt of his head, a silent _"Take care of her while I'm out?"_

"I'll watch her, but that don't mean I'm fond of your silent treatment lately." Jack responded bluntly with a teasing grin as he approached the doorway. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets.

Philip blew a strand of curled hair from his forehead, rolling his eyes at Jack.

Jack booped his nose in retaliation, forcing Philip to recoil and snort. He visibly struggled to maintain his composure in front of Eliza, struggled not to sneeze, and with his fingers over the bridge of his nose he gave Jack a death glare. Jack was too busy snickering to take it seriously.

"I'm going to bring you back to life just to kill you again." Philip muttered under his breath.

Eliza looked up. "What was that, dear?"

"I'm going to get a coat, it's cold out." Philip responded louder, waving her off while he approached the doorway.

And Jack laughed. He waved his arm. "Have fun bud!"

When Philip was out of Eliza's line of sight he turned around shooting Jack a playful smirk and flipped him off.

Jack saluted. "Love you too!"

Outside Philip was beginning to realize that grabbing a jacket was a damn good idea.

He supposed he'd have to thank Jack for that, in a way, though rather indirect-- _Hah!_ Yeah, right! There was no way Philip was giving that dummy such an easy victory.

Though-- at the same time--

Philip felt his playfulness draining slowly. His older brother. A worry was nagging at the back of Philip's mind. He'd have to confront the man later.

"Don't fret too much, dear." Eliza's gentle voice ushered him from his thoughts. "I'm sure your father and your grandfather will be fine."

Philip met Eliza's gaze. He smiled slightly. Philip did not have a clue how his mother maintained such an elegantly collected air about her, even in these freezing streets. Granted, she misunderstood the source of Philip's concerns, but that was for the better.

"I know." Philip sighed. "S'just weird to think about, you know...? He's... Father is so aggressive about his beliefs, and it seems so unnecessary, but then you realize it's all for us." He rubbed his elbow, gaze averted.

"Yes, well..." Eliza looked away, and then back to Philip, drawing a hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. "I think you of all people should understand his mentality rather well, Philip, shouldn't you?"

Philip sputtered, and snorted, "I only got into a fight _once_ last month. It was one time!"

"And the month before that?"

Oh God, _that_ month. Philip fell quiet.

He then failed to suppress a _“snrk”_ as his amused gaze flicked to his mother. She smiled back at him. "Fine, I guess you got me there. But you know that means I'm also doing it for my family." Philip leaned over to kiss his mother's forehead. "I should defend you from anyone who dares to insult your honor."

Eliza laughed. "You seem able to sweet-talk your way out of anything, Philip."

"What can I say? Pops taught me well," Philip snickered good-naturedly.

"So he did." his mother agreed, linking arms with him while she focused her gaze on the path ahead. It was like a sort of bubble was formed around the two, of warmth and welcoming and quiet, amongst the bustle of the city streets around them. "I'm glad you two are getting along well... all things considered." Her voice had faltered somewhat at her afterthought.

Philip fell quiet for a moment while trying to understand Eliza's meaning. He cleared his throat. "He's been teaching me about his responsibilities. I don't mind spending more time with the family until he's able to."

Eliza opened her mouth, and closed it, hesitating, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. Her eyes drifted, and Philip narrowed his eyes skeptically -- some attempt to abandon the topic, clearly, as if she didn't even intend to continue it -- until her eyes lit up with recognition and she called out. "Alexander!"

Philip followed her gaze. Indeed, his father stood at a street corner, shoulders tensed and fists clenched, eyes flaring, for none other than Aaron Burr stood in front of him.

Philip wrinkled his nose as he struggled to gauge the other man's expression, which only allowed a sliver of an infuriating smug pride to show. And in front of the disheveled seething man that was Alexander, he may have looked like an aristocrat, with his chest all puffed out and his shoulders set neatly. Philip decided he didn't really like the scene.

Thankfully some of that indignant fire in Alexander's eyes faltered when he looked over his shoulder. "Eliza," he didn't even attempt to smile, though it defied the new warmth in his tired eyes.

Eliza smiled as she held her dress and hastily approached. "You forgot your papers." she explained, rifling through a purse at her side to hold out a few letters to Alexander.

"Did I... well, thank you," Alexander took them speaking in a muted tone. Philip quickly went to stand beside him, smiling and receiving a small wave in return. Philip had to duck away from Alexander's hand as his father tried to ruffle the boy's hair with a teasing smirk.

"We saw what happened in the paper." Philip explained to him, pushing his arm away by his wrist. "So..."

Alexander's face contorted into something of humiliated adamancy. "...I... appreciate the concern, truly, but I assure you I shouldn't need you or your mother to come to my aid."

Philip laughed. "C’mon, Pops, of course we know that! You could wipe the floor with this guy! Mom's just here to stop you from gutting him." He gestured towards where Eliza and Burr conversed lightly, all hostility having dissipated.

Alexander scoffed, and narrowed his eyes. "Ha-- I-- what do you take me for, a savage??"

Philip leaned over to whisper in his father's ear. "Trust me, I think he deserves it too, but beating someone up in the street might have the opposite effect on our reputation than intended."

He snorted, elbowing Philip pointedly and turning his attention back to Eliza and Burr. The resentment evidently still festered within him, but Philip guessed he refrained to show it in front of his son. He found it amusing.

"...our best regards," Eliza was saying. Burr nodded quietly, gaze shifting to the side. "But we really ought to be heading home -- good day, sir!"

Philip stumbled, being shouldered out the way by Alexander who seemingly didn't even notice he did so. "Excuse me-- we're not done!" his father barked.

But Eliza placed a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder, and the stiffness reluctantly drained from it. "Hun... not here."

Alexander groaned and gritted his teeth at Burr's "I'd go with her if I were you."

Philip’s gaze flicked between them. Burr seemed only to fan the flames. Philip was finding himself suddenly rather helpless in the moment, which felt terribly out of place, until he realized with a grit that he ought not to let this remain the case.

Alexander was a hurricane, Eliza was stressed enough as it was, and Philip was a growing _Hamilton._

So he stepped forward quickly between his parents and Burr, waving Alexander off. He only caught a glimpse of Alexander's confused frown, one that said _"You better put him in his place,"_ but he saw the relief on Eliza's face as well while she hurried off with her husband, and it made it all worth it.

Burr cleared his throat. "Mr. Hamilton?"

"Listen, I don't like your whole... thing," Philip narrowed his eyes slightly as he turned to face the man, "but, neither of us want this to take a toll on our families... and I won't make Eliza hold back two of us. So I'll leave you to your business if you leave me to mine, and -- it’d be best for the both of us if you keep in mind how quick my father is to anger.”

"...Okay," Burr raised an eyebrow tentatively. Philip felt a ridiculous pride seeing the man unsure of his own steps for once.

"Besides, if my own father made that kind of move I'd praise him for it. It's pretty admirable. So it’d be improper of me not to wish you luck in your pursuit." Philip offered a smile, albeit a stiff one. “Congratulations.”

Burr did not quite offer a smile of the same magnitude, but Philip still noticed how the edges of his mouth quirked, and how his affirmatory nod contained just a whisper of light impressed mirth.

Philip felt his ego swell. Pretending he didn't despise this infuriating man was quite the effort, but for Eliza's voice _"be polite, dear,"_ for the distant feeling of superiority, hell, for _her_ , it seemed worth it.

_“He doesn't like your family much. But I truly fail to see why.”_

A sudden childlike pride bubbled up at this conclusion. Philip spoke with a veiled enthusiasm, "That being said, how's Theodosia?"

"Ah, my pride and joy," Burr tilted his head to the side, a slight smirk upon his face. He dusted off the front of his suit. Philip dared not to read into his expression. "She writes back to you insistently, even as she is moving. Though I fear her mother's worsening illness takes more of a toll on her than as is evident..."

At this Philip stills. "She's still sick?"

"Indeed, as I informed your mother." Burr seems to feign steadiness. He speaks no more on the matter.

Philip swallowed. "I hope it gets better soon." He found his voice a little tight. He needed to make sure Theo was okay.

"It's appreciated." Burr nodded slightly. He looked distant as he was straightening his coat. "Still I think I ought to return to my errands."

"'Course," Philip reached out to shake Burr's hand, forcing his expression to lighten. It wouldn't do any good to leave a conversation like this on a bad note. "Tell your daughter I said hi. And that she's a madman for wearing herself out writing letters!"

"Sure." Burr grudgingly allowed a soft chuckle, turning swiftly. He did not stay a second longer than was necessary. Philip snorted, knowing such was typical from Mr. Burr, but he still felt himself prickle irritably at the lack of any friendly reciprocation.

Philip dipped his head and turned to follow his mother. They would likely worry about him if he stayed any longer.


	15. A Close Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty long bonus, one of my favorites too -- watch out for the foreshadowing, I think you'll like it ;)

_Philip Hamilton,_

_It is certainly good to know you won't chicken out on me! And don't worry. I understand your sentiment. I'll do my best not to tease you too much, or confound you... you must not encounter that with many of those New York ladies of yours, hmm?_

_To answer your question, my father educates me on everything he learned about when he was younger. He's throwing in French and Latin, and also lets me in on his work sometimes. So don't think you're the only ambitious one -- I'm going to be working twice as hard as half those Princeton boys._

_It's odd to me how anyone should dislike the work anyway. Has Mr. Hamilton ever let you translate letters? Because Father made me this evening, and it was perhaps tedious, but there's something so mystifying about having the honor of bridging that gap between peoples..._

_You know, that's kind of curious isn't it? That both of us should work so diligently spurred on by our fathers. Our families aren't so different... don't you think?_

_Either way, Father says he's got all the living arrangements sorted out so he'll be moving us by September. So we'll get to figure out for ourselves!_

_Nervous? I mean, well, of course -- excited?_

_Miss Theodosia_

Philip frowned.

_“I fear her mother's worsening illness takes more of a toll on her than as is evident…”_

Philip wasn’t expecting so much subtlety as this. He could barely tell anything was wrong! And it irritated him -- how was he supposed to make sure she was okay? Was Mr. Burr just lying for attention? He was certainly one to hide truths but not, seemingly, to _lie._ But it was true that the man was always finding new ways to irritate Philip and his father. But then again maybe Theo just didn’t want to let in Philip on what she thought was personal. Which didn’t make much sense to him but he digressed.

Most importantly how could Philip try and figure any of this out when Theodosia still spoke in that terribly teasing tone?! 

Like-- _"ladies of his?"_ Philip hadn’t even _started_ to court anyone yet!

Yet...

Philip shivered, feeling a very unwelcome warmth creeping up to his cheeks. He had never even considered the thought of it until now, too content in the groups of boys he occasionally met with in his neighborhood, not to mention Jack. But Theo's odd faith in his charm, in his relationships brought about tussling feelings of pride, confidence and shy repulsion, all simultaneously. Well-- not shyness, of course, he wasn't shy. But.

...Ugh. Still such an enigma.

Philip grinned playfully as he wrote nigh furiously. This wondrously perplexing French-fluent girl was a challenge but Philip would not back down.

_Miss Theodosia,_

_You call me charming and you think I'll be nervous? It's true I haven't met a single girl quite like you, but I know also you won't encounter a lady killer like me anywhere in Connecticut! I'm afraid you'll be the one mentally preparing for our union in New York._

_Really, though, of course I'm excited to meet you. And hey, we're both so ambitious -- let's show our families we don't have to be such firm rivals! What do you say?_

_After all I feel you’ve given fair reason for me to rethink my assumptions about your family..._

_Am I making you rethink yours? ~~by chance~~_

_You know, your dad told me when Eliza introduced us some years ago about your French. It was, at the time, the only thing I thought we'd ever have in common. Now, peut être pas, eh? Looks like both our fathers enjoy giving us letters to translate -- ha, we'll have to butt heads with our knowledge when we finally get to see each other here in New York._

_I have to admit though your comment about the nature of translating is perplexing, and something I haven't really considered. Your mind wanders in ways I've never really seen in any of my acquaintances before. Maybe it is the woman's charm? You'll have to teach me how it works._

_Philip Hamilton_

The images conjured up in Theodosia’s mind never seemed quite right.

Because those stray strands of hair probably wouldn’t be there -- he was a senator’s son, after all, he should certainly know to look proper. 

But then again, the boy had a precipitate air about him. Philip may overlook such meticulous details in his appearance. That’s why the slight ruffle in his collar and the asymmetrical freckles on his nose would just make sense... although, would this really be the truth for one who claimed to be a suave lady killer?

...Hah! A lady killer. She’d nearly forgotten the comment. Such a funny one, too. Was Theodosia supposed to find it intimidating? Well, Philip did not know her. She relished in this fact for a moment or two.

“Theodosia, love, do focus.” her mother warned her, turning her back in a sweeping motion to attend to some other component of their supper. Theodosia’s eyes darted quickly to the pot that had begun to bubble violently.

“O-of course,” she sputtered quickly, reaching to turn down the gas, “Sorry, Mother.”

Her heart sank slightly. To let her mind wander at such a time… she felt it was selfish, especially when her mother still struggled to recover from her fever. If only she’d made more time amongst her studying to practice -- maybe she’d be able to prepare supper by herself…

Lord, her father would be so distraught if she let herself neglect her responsibilities. Theodosia needed to-- to--

She started when her mother’s hand settled gently on her shoulder. Theodosia looked up to see eyes glimmering with a quiet understanding. 

Theodosia searched this gaze for a second or two, this gentle _“hush, now,”_ this _“patience, love.”_ The slight tilt of the head that said _“what is there to fret over?”_ The gentle press of her thumb that said _“you are doing amazing, dear.”_

And-- Theodosia allowed a small smile. An acknowledgement, or an understanding. A _“thank you.”_

And so they returned to cooking quietly, with a stillness settling over Theodosia’s thoughts. She hummed, dismissing her worries. Her mother had that effect, she found.

Theodosia closed her eyes. She didn’t know what she would do without it.

Instead of letting her mind drift to more depressing topics again, Theodosia idly decided to drift back and populate her quieted mind with those images of that never-ending boy. Philip Hamilton, her friend.

The boy with the unkempt hair or the off-center collar or the puffy sleeve cuffs. The one whose letters filled her with a sort of warm laughter, that allowed her to bathe in her own quiet social adeptness. The boy with the beauty spots or the immaculate coat or the bronze eyes or _whatever they were,_ she could just _not_ get it right…

She _was_ being adept, and wise, she had the upper hand, she _did._ Just like her father would teach her to do...

...she just kind of _really_ wanted to know what this boy looked like.


	16. The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distance, and a sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays :)

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

 _"You,_ dummy," Philip insisted, looking Jack in the eye. His fingernails were digging into the bedsheets. "I know you're not used to having any attention on you, but…” He snorted softly, turning his gaze away while his shadow of a joke fell flat.

Jack wrinkled his nose. He was quite lost already.

He hadn't really expected the boy to return in the manner he did, just a few minutes earlier, giving only brief greetings to his family before dragging Jack to his room with urgency. Whatever Philip intended to do, Jack hadn't a clue.

Aside from getting reassurance, that was. After all, he'd allegedly confronted Burr by the street corner to spare Alexander from having to (and from making a scene). For all its admirability clearly Philip was not yet comfortable with carefully crafting his first impressions to people like that.

People like his father’s rival, who also wore the title of his best friend’s dad. Some cruel juxtaposition.

Philip denied the conclusion profusely -- "I'm a Hamilton, I'm not hesitant and I don't get flustered" he had said -- but Jack didn't bother provoking him further. 

It was more fun to just watch the boy fluster himself with the argument that he wasn't flustered.

Said boy was looking at him challengingly; Jack remembered he was in conversation. He inquired confusedly, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Philip gave a soft laugh that almost sounded like pity. "Maybe _I_ did. That's what I'm worried about,"

Philip scratched his neck. There was a warm light from the desk candle, but it failed to illuminate the room past a soft glow; thus Philip didn't wear his usual shine. "I haven't been paying attention to you."

"...Have you not?"

"No I don't-- think so," Philip's voice lost its boldness and now he just sounded vulnerable. "Have I? I just dismiss you for my family nowadays, not to mention my work, too... don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at us sometimes, off in your corner _moping_ like that--”

Jack huffed quietly, letting the understanding dawn on him. "Bud, you're paranoid. It's fine."

"I'm not!" Philip retorted with a scoff, some fire returning to his frame. "Didn't you say yourself this very morning that I was giving you _the silent treatment?"_

Jack cleared his throat, hoping to back off slightly. Evidently -- _admittedly_ \-- the topic was something that lingered at the back of his mind, always there, but never prominent enough to deal with. Hell, Jack never even considered it an issue, not since their stay at Philip Schuyler’s.

But young Philip was taking a lot onto his shoulders recently, and clearly Jack hadn't really considered how it might affect him.

"Sure, but I was joking. Don't mind it, really." Jack scooted back and slumped against the pillows, folding his arms behind his head. Philip only watched from where he sat cross-legged, doubt painted across his dimly lit face. "Besides, I think you've got things a little backwards," Jack pointed out, trying for a small smile, "I'm your _guardian angel._ The reason I'm here is so that I can make sure you _learn_ how to be there for your friends and family. And hey, you're doing great. You don't have to worry about me."

Philip sighed, opening and closing his mouth, eyes flickering as he hesitantly regarded the truth in Jack's words. He rolled his eyes and collapsed on the pillows next to Jack. "Sure, whatever, I-I guess, but look-- I don't care if you're supposed to be some guardian angel. To _me,_ you're my friend."

Jack blinked, his previously contented gaze flicking from the ceiling towards Philip. He found himself startled slightly by Philip's words and it took a second or two for him to find a response.

"...I... yes, and I'll always consider us friends, no matter how much of your attention goes to your family." Jack murmured sincerely. "Really. I don't mind. A-and you know, friends eventually move on from each other. More so in this case, Philip. _I'm still dead."_

Philip stiffened and sat up as quickly as he had laid down, looking down at Jack with an expression laden with concern. "You mean--?"

Jack pushed himself up by his palms to face his friend, frowning contemplatively. "I don't know how exactly I returned, but it wasn't to have a second chance at life or to make friends to keep or anything. No poor soul should be spending their life on someone who has died." He gestured with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Philip swallowed, painfully visibly distraught. "You..." he breathed a quiet laugh, woven weakly with disbelief. "So you're just going to leave me? You're going to have to leave me, aren't you-- you're gonna have to 'move on' or some shit to some better place where you can just forget about me?"

Jack flinched. He'd made a mistake drifting to this topic. "Hey hey, calm down," He sat up fully now, a hand on Philip's shoulder. "'Course I'm not forgetting you. And it's not like I'd go and ditch you tomorrow morning, who in the world do you take me as?" He tried to smile.

"Ha..." Philip ducked his head, fallen still under Jack's hand, his eyes trailing to the side.

Jack sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. But wouldn’t Philip have to learn to say goodbye? Truthfully... it was easier, here, in that Jack would have some amount of choice in the matter.

Regardless, Jack reached forward and insistently pulled the boy into a hug, which Philip leaned into gratefully. 

Philip gave a quiet whine. Suddenly he became the same small child who comforted Jack that night, all those years ago, and it was breaking Jack's heart.

"Shh. It's okay."

"Look I'm sorry, it just... I-- I don't know, you've been here my whole life, and-- I couldn't imagine-- I guess I didn't consider that..."

"You never had to," Jack pointed out quietly while he rubbed circles in his friend's back reassuringly. "And you don't have to now." He shifted back slightly, looking Philip in his reddened eyes. "Just don't forget me and we'll be friends no matter what."

"If you say so." Philip mumbled, seemingly having bit back tears. Jack would have considered it impressive had he not known the sort of gross feeling that came with such repression. Still, Philip attempted a small smile and Jack returned it.

"I do," Jack insisted with a sort of teasing tone. "You should fix yourself up, Eliza will want you at the table for dinner soon."

Philip stared blankly for a moment while he processed, and scoffed, rubbing his nose. "Oh, right."

Jack huffed a laugh at this odd reaction -- it was as if the boy remembered he even existed. Though, well, Jack was hardly in any place to judge such behavior, he admitted grudgingly.

He didn't dwell on it further though, simply helping Philip stand and straighten himself and watching him make his way out the room. To help set the table, probably. The boy looked over his shoulder, beckoning Jack with a small smile before hurrying off down the hallway.

Jack was happy enough to follow, and childishly eager to see whatever shenanigans he could get up to at the dinner table. Though he found himself stopping at the doorway while he watched Philip's frame grow further away. 

A receding figure, nearly seven feet ahead of him now...

It seemed so familiar, well-- of course it was, he'd walked with Philip plenty of times. Hadn't he? Maybe it was some rotten déjà vu. In all his time in the Hamilton residence he'd come to thoroughly despise the feeling.

Jack began his languid stride towards the dining room. He hadn't lied. He wasn't going to leave Philip anytime soon. 

His finger twitched. He... he didn't need any _reason_ for it or anything. It was probably just a natural urge -- he was a guardian angel, after all.

...

...but there _was_ a reason for it, he realized, and it was creeping closer and closer each day, looming over him like the shadow of a towering mountain.

He shuddered and let the light of the dining room envelop him very gratefully. Give Philip a smile, find a place to hover. Listen in, but feel somewhere else. It was all typical; Jack had managed to still his thoughts from that point onwards. For the most part.

He knew they still lingered quietly.


	17. A Crush?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sliding into the relationship tags like--_

_Philip Hamilton,_

_"Woman's charm," ha! I like that, but I think what I have is more like Theodosia's Charm. Shall I show you how it works? Perhaps, one day, if you should insist._

_But then again, perhaps it's already working?_

_I've harbored a curiosity towards your family and others in New York for a while, despite how my father should look down on it. Well, mostly on my views of your family. But any prominent family should be admired in their own way, and besides, there's no better way to gain an advantage than to know more about the people around you._

_My father seeks to do this every day. He gains information by letting others talk. But in the end it's all to move forward. Just as your father does, even if by different methods; and why shouldn't we take pride in that similarity, I say._

_Anyway, we have just about gotten ready to move and we'll be arriving in a few weeks. It appears just in time for that summer celebration they hold near your city -- a fair, I believe? So I have convinced my father to let me go, to let me gain an idea of where we will be living for a while. You ought to come, it will be a good place to get gossip._

_See you then, Pip!_

_Miss Theodosia_

Theodosia was right all along! Philip DID have an awesome charm -- of course, he knew because just the other day he winked at a girl on the sidewalk, a simple gesture, as natural as a forward step, which just about turned her into a _blushing mess_. He'd sat with a close friend of his the following morning who began asking him to go and meet Sunday in such a cute bashful manner that secured it in Philip's head: _she's totally into you_. They're all so totally into him! Hah! This was eaaasy--

_Wait was Theodosia flirting with him?_

Philip growled at his own burning face in frustration; he willed himself to read and comprehend all paragraphs after the first two, but it just didn't seem _possible._

There was absolutely no way this girl was flirting with him, because well for one _he_ flirted with _others_ that was just how it _worked,_ and two there was absolutely no possible way she could be interested in him at ALL. Well-- yeah duh of course there was, he was Philip Hamilton-- _but really no way, because she was Theodosia Burr._ Oh... yeah, and three, she was Theodosia Burr. Which, aside from its obvious implications (those ones that made Philip feel like he was no better at social interaction than a slug) also meant that she was the daughter of Aaron Burr, and like, there was like NO way THAT was happening.

Wait, what was he going on about? What happening? Nothing was happening. There couldn't be anything more happening with a girl he'd only ever met through letters. Even if they might have become friends, or, or surprisingly close friends.

Philip mumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead. He ought to be careful with these outbursts of thought if he didn't want Angelica teasing him.

...Wait, did Theodosia just call him _Pip?_

God fucking damn it.

_Miss Theodosia,_

_I can't see any charm working here except perhaps mine on you, judging by your cute nickname! (but in all seriousness I don't think I should fancy being called that, I sound rather like a toddler.)_

_Is that why you talk to me anyway? To gain an advantage? Because you're a sly one, you really do remind me of your father. But I think you've got another thing coming. My father is the most stubborn man on this continent and I do not intend to fall short. With or without your support, I'm getting ahead!_

_Let's aim for with, though, okay? You're a really nice ally._

_So I'll meet you at the end-of-summer gathering, it doesn't seem too far. I'll walk there alone. I might have to set aside some work for it but it appears to be on the weekend anyway. Pops could get irritated, but I think it's good to take advantage of free time when you have it, don't you? That's what Eliza tells me, otherwise I'll end up like him, chained to my desk..._

_He is often working nowadays but it's alright, it's easy enough for me and Eliza to keep track of the kids. Angelica's getting old enough to look after herself too. We're doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself. Angie's a little feisty though, I think you'd like her._

_Hopefully I can introduce you two when you arrive. Heck, I can show you around New York if you'd like. I think it'll be plenty fun._

_Philip Hamilton_

Theodosia Burr knew she was good at trapping whirlwinds of raging emotion beneath her slender frame.

“That’s-- that’s outrageous...” she heard her father mutter weakly behind the door she leaned against. “You are worth quite more than the entirety of the Congress’s approval, love--”

A hushed but firm response.

“I should have full allowance to stay and take care of you--”

An insistent command.

Theodosia chose that moment to turn from the closed door and step delicately, hurriedly down the hallway. Her fingernails dug, scraped into her silken dress. Chapped lips, distant eyes. Breaths, footsteps. 

She was good at keeping it in.

Like her mother.

Her mother would be fine.

Theodosia gingerly nudged open the door to the room in which she slept. She allowed her eyes to sweep across the books littered across the desks -- _I ought to clean_ \-- but she did not let herself rest until her gaze came to a gentle halt at the silver handle of an ivory drawer.

She wrapped her fingers around it and insistently plucked Pip’s letter from where she stashed it away yesterday evening.

_“I don’t think I should fancy being called that, I'm not a five-year-old.”_

Theodosia felt a smile creep upon her lips. She decided to let it. She bounced back against her mattress and folded her legs. 

_“I can show you around New York if you’d like. I think it’ll be plenty fun.”_

She thought it’d be fun too.

Theodosia closed her eyes and let her visualizations wash over her to quell the distant void-like blackness at the corners of her mind. Only a few days. She would be out on her own, learning the customs, crafting her name. Making her family proud. Splashes of color to replace icy coldness. An opportunity to guard herself, to prove herself, to, well, _to see what that damn boy looked like._

She opened her eyes, skimming the page again. Just one more time. To remind herself of what was to be, to look over that slight flick on the “a” of his penning “Miss Theodosia” (which always caught her eye for some reason), and to coax herself away from those worries about her poor mother.

Who should have been better by now. 

Well, maybe, just maybe, it was helping to have this separate world. This respite, or haven, made of hastily penned letters and playful teases, fiery ambition and flustered charm. But...

Theodosia was good at keeping it in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge on social events is limited, even more so with social events of the colonial era, so heads up, here's another thing I'm largely making up: an end-of-summer fair. Just wanted something a little less on-the-nose than a ball, you know? :P


	18. My Dearest...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something John needs to confront. He can't bear to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of the Philidosia letters, and the beginning of what I will dub the 3-Chapter Trilogy of Homophobic Angst. Be prepared
> 
> (dramatic stinger)

It was hard for Jack not to lay back on the couch some evenings and just reminisce. Philip was growing so quickly, it seemed unfair. How should Jack, age unchanging and insignificant in his death, deal with his transition from an uncle to a brother? 

Whatever title Jack took on now, Philip was starting to become something of a handsome young man.

And not only in his family's eyes. 

Such was evident by that one evening Philip returned home from a night out grinning like an idiot, and Jack nearly burst with laughter upon seeing the boy. He was flushed -- his hair, such a mess. "Philip!"

The look on Philip's face evaporated to make way for a sort of blank obliviousness. "What's wrong?"

Instead of answering, Jack grabbed Philip's wrist and led him to the nearest bathroom before Eliza or Alexander came to greet him. "If you don't want your parents to interrogate you, you're gonna have to fix yourself up, mister "lady killer."" He nudged Philip by his shoulders to face the mirror and smoothed down the kid's hair. Philip was looking somewhat sheepish and his face was redder than before.

"Didn't know it was that obvious." he said, in an uncharacteristically small voice, while he straightened his coat.

Jack gave him a smile that teetered on the edge between teasing and proud. "You must tell me who it was -- in return for me not ratting you out."

Philip gave an indignant huff, rolling his eyes. He was regaining his composure quickly, as was evident by the cheeky smirk he gave Jack along with a "Which one do you wanna know about?"

"Oh my _God,_ Philip."

They laughed.

But these moments were odd and fleeting. Philip sure hooked in a lot of partners, but he also seemed to be rather acquainted with... _catch-and-release._ Those he courted seemed to come just as quickly as they went. Jack didn't understand, of course. After all, in life, he seemed unable to hold any relationship that didn't become a train wreck -- oh dear God, his wife and his child, a binding contract, a suffocating contract, _dear God he ought not to think of this._

So instead Jack tried to understand the quirks in Philip's romantic life but whenever Jack would ask when he'd begin to court someone more seriously, Philip would give some offhanded mutter about a fear of commitment.

Jack felt like he meant something more than that, but Philip would never say.

Still, the joy in his eyes those other days was glowing and unmistakable and Jack loved to see it. He was clearly doing something right even if Jack failed to understand it. That was nice.

And... chilling.

It was chilling. Because it was a reminder of what Jack couldn't feel. It stirred up an aching that he thought he'd overcome a long while ago.

In one of these quiet evenings where Jack found himself on the living room couch, sitting neatly, eyes wandering, feeling as detached as ever, Eliza had entered to pull Alexander in with her. Her steps were quick -- deft, even. Purposeful.

"What do you mean??" Alex was muttering, voice low with fatigue, and strained as if they'd been arguing. "He's had more late nights and random outings this month than he's ever had. There's no damn way he's gonna survive King's College with that kind of ethic..."

John ducked his head slightly. It was hard to look at Alex. John felt he didn't deserve it. The breathtaking man's tone was heavy, perhaps fiery with irritation, but underneath lay a quivering concern. John wanted to reach out, quell and comfort, hell, he wanted to do _anything._ Alas.

Of course Eliza seemed to pick up on this hidden tone too. She was his wife. Of course. Why wouldn't she.

"Don't fret too much, he's a growing boy, he needs his time." she insisted gently. John did not need to look up to know Eliza placed a hand on her husband's cheek. He did not need to look up to know how Alexander relaxed and set his own hand over hers. "Don't you remember how you used to be?"

Alex sighed and mumbled something under his breath -- unfairly beautifully for how quiet it was, John thought, and he flinched at how the disgust pinned him. "Hmph, well I suppose we first met eyes on my own night out, my dear Eliza..." came Alexander's soft-voiced reply, "...I'm in... quite a hypocritical position to disagree, it seems."

It was fond. It was stubborn but it was defeatedly conceding. And John knew Alex. _There was no other soul in the universe Alexander Hamilton would concede to._

_My dear Eliza. My dear Eliza._

_My dear Laurens..._

_my dear Eliza._

John willed himself painfully to stand and train his eyes on the front door. He swallowed hard. He passed the two. They said something else, sweet and hushed. John didn't care what it was.

His head was buzzing, in a way that it _should not_ \-- he felt sick that such envious coiling feelings still lingered after he should be past them by now. _Frankly, damn Philip and his love life, reviving things like this._

John had come to the conclusion (the fourteenth time that lifetime) that the universe had been simply out to mock him with his "second chance" -- why else would it taunt him so? 

He pushed through the door and strode a few rushed paces down the sidewalk. He did not have the time or energy to let the sweetly quiet night greet him, or the hum of silence, or the gentle swaying winds that flitted through him. John could only focus on maintaining his stiff composure.

He whirled and pressed against one of the streetlamps, running a hand almost forcefully through the unkempt curls over his forehead. Then John tilted his head back, closed his eyes. Bathed in the soft pervasive glow of the light, how it created a bubble of silent warmth around him in defiance of the chilly darkened evening. Silence. No hushed voices or mocking affections.

But still his thoughts.

Lord, how John just wished, prayed even, despite everything, that he could only have Lafayette or Hercules here, that he could down alcohol with his old friends to smother his thoughts and drown the burn in his throat. All like he used to, really, just like at the wedding.

John breathed a weak excuse for a laugh.

Then there was a voice. "...but... Mum will probably make a fuss..."

He opened his eyes with a start. There were two of them -- one distantly familiar -- speaking in hushed tones multiple paces from him, partially indecipherable.

"But...!" a whine -- "It's been so much fun... you can't come over for just a little while...?"

"Sorry, ha, I know... but..."

Jack gave a quick glance, something that should be nothing, because the idea of watching yet another couple planted an unpleasant taste on his tongue. But he recognized one, the boy, hastily, and knew his eyes widened slightly--

"Next time. Promise." Philip was waving a pretty-looking young lady Jack didn't recognize off from where the roads came to an intersection. His other hand was shoved in his coat pocket. The boy, Jack's friend, in all his casual charm, he seemed a harsh contrast to the darkened evening that surrounded them.

"What are you doing out this late?" Jack murmured, surprised his voice worked and even more surprised that Philip seemed to hear. Or at least, Philip had locked eyes with him and approached the minute that girl had left, as if it had been his intention all along. 

_Had_ it been his intention all along? Jack didn't quite realize the boy was willing to give up a night with a fair lady for anything.

Philip tilted his chin up to Jack's almost challengingly while the streetlamp light settled comfortably around the boy. "I could ask the same of you, what's with your melancholy air?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly before any response could be uttered. "Does it bother you when I shoo you away? It's much better than being the third wheel, I assure you Laurens."

Jack almost laughed. "No, my mind's on other things." 

He bit his reply short for fear of, in his dazed and unsteady state, blurting out something like _"Better than being your father's third wheel."_

"Such as?" Philip spun on his heel and leaned against the lamp pole with his shoulder against Jack's. Jack gritted his teeth and trained his eyes on his toes. 

This was dangerous, too dangerous, Lord. With his thoughts and inhibition weighed down by the terrible heaviness in his gut. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want Philip to know, Philip couldn't know.

To expose himself for his sin-- sinful feelings-- for Philip's father no less! _Lord!_ Philip couldn't know. This pure soul, Jack's only redemption-- he just couldn't. 

Philip, who now fidgeted and gazed at him with a heavy concern, speaking "Jack?" He couldn't... "Jack, I've seen you like this before. You've got to talk about it, I want to help you."

Jack tilted his head to the side, away from his friend, and felt his fingernails dig into his palms. "You should not spend so much energy on the dead."

"God, Jackie, don't start that again..." Philip responded in a low resolved tone. Jack didn't know how to react. "I care about you, won't you get that into your thick skull?" He took Jack's shoulders and forced the man to face him, giving him a smile intertwined with tease and sincerity simultaneously. Jack felt really rather vulnerable, their shrinking size difference suddenly more prominent than anything. Damn it. He wished he was still the uncle.

"But you..." Jack sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt cold -- his head was buzzing. 

Philip shook his head, the light reflecting against his cheekbones, and continued. "Why else would I have left her? I could just have easily followed her home." His words accompanied a slight smirk which Jack failed to focus on. So it _had_ been intentional-- that should be a touching thing, but Philip couldn't-- Philip should just _leave_ goddamn it-- "Right now you're my friend whether you like it or not. Tell me what's wrong."

Jack shuddered. He couldn't take this. That same adamant bite of his father's.

His father's.

He couldn't fucking take this.

"Don't fucking bother!" Jack found himself snapping suddenly.

Philip opened his mouth but was granted no time to respond.

"Your pretty girls are more worth your time." Laurens felt as if the words tumbled out without his consent. What was he--? The fog in his brain, now burning-- "Aren't they? Didn't you make that clear?! After everything you said to me, fucking hell, and then you look at her-- like that-- as if it all meant nothing--! It all meant nothing to you didn't it?! God _damn_ it Hamilton--!"

Laurens's fingernails scraped painfully against his scalp as he buckled, vision blurred. He knew he no longer spoke to the boy next to him, but he couldn't-- oh, no, the boy next to him. Oh, no...

"Jack-- what?" Philip breathed incredulously. "Calm down, please..."

"I'm sorry." Laurens sputtered, eyes flicking up to meet Philip's. It was more of a plea than an apology. "I didn't mean to say most of that-- any of that. I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Philip's hand was on Laurens's shoulder, heavy and grounding. "Hey, it's all good. Just breathe, I-- Christ..." He inhaled breathily. "It's okay."

For a moment it was quiet, only Jack's shaking breaths filling the air, until Philip spoke again, hushed and hesitant, "...look at _who_ like that, Jack?"

"Someone..." Jack placed a trembling hand on his own forearm, looking at anything but Philip. "better than me. _Ha--_ I shouldn't even be angry. What else do you do in a world like this? Why expect a train wreck like me? Why could I even expect him to..." The hidden confessions were burning on his tongue, it _hurt_ to keep them in. He wished very dearly to be able to just open the floodgates, to lift this terrible weight over him that had settled and grown more choking by the minute. But Laurens knew he couldn't, _shouldn't_ manage anything more than these unintelligible mumbles through gritted teeth.

He lifted his chin with an effort, and finally looked to Philip. The boy's eyes were like turbulent oceans but he stood completely still. "I only mean to say..." Laurens cleared his throat. "Your romances remind me of a past life. But it's over now and there is nothing to dwell over. We should go home."

Philip's fingers trailed to Laurens's forearm -- his gaze remained worried and disbelieving and stubborn. "Come on. I know you. There's _no_ way you're over this--" He swallowed. "I know what heartbreak looks like, Jack."

When Laurens didn't reply, Philip watched him searchingly, breaths even but hushed. "...A Hamilton... right? If I didn't know better I'd guess it was Eliza, but you only ever look like that when... when..."

Oh. _No._

"Hah--!!" Laurens sputtered, struggling to give some semblance of a laugh-- "N-no, Philip, it's truly nothing of concern-- let's go home-- please, let's just go home... it's really very late..."

But there was silence.

Laurens watched Philip's face-- no, no, no-- his eyes were wide, glimmering, with a baffled realization settling over them, and-- God no, _no--!_ "Jack... I-I'm sorry, I know this is kind of... I mean, I don't mean to like, _accuse_ you of anything but..."

Laurens struggled to breathe. He needed to get out.

"Do you... is it..."

Breathe... breathe-- _un, deux, trois, qua--_ qua...

...breathe-- _no--_ breathe-- no, _no, no--_

breathe, breathe-- choking-- get _OUT--!!!_

"Did you... do you... _love..._ Al--"

Jack _bolted._


	19. A Lifetime of Condemnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip tries to figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an early upload because, well, I think I'm just as impatient as you guys must be after that cliffhanger lol

It was painfully clear now.

His Guardian Angel was in love with his father.

A man, in love with a married man.

His childhood best friend and caretaker, in love with a married man.

Philip's breath came out stuttering in the cold air. His fingernails dug into the sides of his forearms as they wrapped around himself, and he could not bring himself to open his eyes. Could not understand how to cope with Jack bursting away, refusing to speak.

Perhaps it made sense for him not to?

After all, such should be... _illegal--_

But God, Philip knew him, trusted for so long and never knew--

To realize, now, what all of those wistful glances meant--

The sharp intakes of breath whenever Alexander was near--

The tension that nigh erupted whenever Philip so much as hinted at Jack's presence to his family...

_Good God,_ should Philip even be thinking about this? It felt like metallic poison crawling in his head, down his throat, along his tongue. It tasted like raw, venomous _sin._

But how-- how could Philip ever say such when the sinner in question was his own _friend...?_ His caretaker and his brother?

Philip inhaled a small, trembling breath, and lifted his head finally. His eyes darted from side to side. Jack was not in sight, as should be expected, but it still drew a sigh from Philip.

Where could Jack possibly have gone?

It wasn't like ghosts left footprints.

Well, Philip had little choice but to return home.

"Jack...?" Philip croaked, startled by the weakness of his own voice, while slowly starting towards the path. His mind rebelliously drifted to a warmer evening... curled up with the scent of perfume filling his nostrils, with his lips brushing soft skin--

He'd given all that up to check on Jack. Look where that had gotten him.

There was no warmth or sweet smell or taste-- just a cold emptiness.

Maybe Philip did something wrong…?

"Jack, let's just talk. Please..."

Still the only thing that granted him any response was the buzzing of the silence in the evening air.

Right. Well. This had happened before. Philip needed only to give his friend space, and then Jack would return, and all would be well. They'd talk things out and then all would be well.

Dammit, that was really all he yearned for. He wanted things to go back to how they were just a few minutes ago when nothing was exchanged between him and his friend but playful smiles and hugs, innocent comforts. 

_Why shouldn't things go back that way? What has changed?_ his mind murmured, but he countered with _How could anything be the same now that I know what he thinks when he looks at my father like that?_ yet his mind only plowed on _So the whole of your friendship should be ruined by the simple knowledge of something that now affects no one?_

Philip didn't know how to answer any of it. The only thing he knew was that, stronger than anything else, he hoped desperately that this was a nightmare. That this would not be the last time he laid eyes upon his friend.

* * *

The rest of the evening was still, dull, terrible. Tedious, and uninteresting. Philip didn't like to make eye contact with anyone -- not Angelica, nor Eliza, nor Alexander. 

Especially not Alexander. 

Philip felt guilt claw at his throat at this notion. But what could he do?

He realized his discomfort was showing rather blatantly -- after all, on any other day he might be rambling incessantly, with an ever-burning flame that mirrored his father's -- and it took everything in his power to try and suppress this behavior, but clearly it wasn't working when Eliza confronted him after the table had been cleared at supper.

"My dear, you had barely eaten."

Philip met her concerned gaze from where he stood, practically hiding against the side of the dining room.

"No," Philip swallowed. "I find my appetite's vanished."

"Did something happen?" His mother approached him gently, eyes warm in the wavering light. She set her hand gingerly on Philip's shoulder making him shiver.

"Well--" Maintaining eye contact was a chore. How could he avoid lying now?

Fortunately he was saved by Eliza's softening gaze and her hushed tone, "Did it not go well?"

Ah, she refers to his... romance.

"N... No." Philip mumbled, feeling himself relieved with being given an out. "We, ah..." He fidgeted. "were caught."

Eliza gently stroked Philip's cheek, letting a quiet stillness set in. She rose, then, giving him a gentle smile, "Well, perhaps you should deserve such, for being such a careless flirt at your age."

Philip rolled his eyes, but allowed his mother a small smile. She sought to cheer him up.

Eliza maintained his gaze for a second longer before tilting her head slightly and turning towards the hallway -- an unspoken invitation to follow. Philip hesitated, but took it. "Don't fret over it, Philip, it's a thing of the past. And I doubt you'll have any trouble winning over her or any other lady, if it should come to that, given your charm." She winked over her shoulder as they walked.

"Yes..." Philip spoke with an amused huff, though the comment did make his pride swell somewhat. She was totally right.

A silence settled briefly over the two while they approached Angelica's bedroom. Philip's gaze flicked up to his mother, as he shakily opened his mouth, and closed it.

Finally he spoke, hushed and reluctant, "...Eliza..."

"Hm?"

"...Can you... tell me about Father's friend?"

Eliza stilled slightly, casting a curious glance at him. "Mr. Laurens?"

"Yes..." Philip frowned, looking to the side. "You know-- he just never talks about it. And Ja-- er, Mr. Laurens-- he didn't seem like he was that bad or anything, so... I want to know why it bothers Dad so much..." He struggled to find something to do with his hands; he cursed himself for having such a lack of subtlety. "...It's... not very fun. To see him like that."

"...hm, well--" A sort of quieter air had consumed Eliza as she was entering the room to put Philip's younger siblings to bed. Philip stood by the doorway. "Really, your father's grief stems from just that. John Laurens... he wasn't unpleasant, perhaps aside from his tendency to start bar fights, of course."

Start bar fights? Philip snorted. The thought of such a younger more rambunctious Jack just tickled him.

"Truly, Laurens and Hamilton were alike in many ways, and I believe they greatly enjoyed each others' company. And Alexander... it pained him to have to say goodbye to that."

Philip shuddered. "...Right..."

He wondered if Eliza understood that hidden implication of her words as well as he did, now.

"Laurens, he--" Eliza stilled by the doorway near Philip, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her gaze had strayed away, wandering. "He stood alongside your father in many issues. The man had big dreams -- an ambitious abolitionist. He organized an entire regiment of former slaves, only... only for it to be for naught, when he passed." She sighed deeply.

"...shit..." Philip mumbled under his breath, his decency escaping him in his tired, baffled daze. If Eliza noticed, though, she did not care.

"Laurens fought so hard for things like that. What he thought was right." Eliza turned to Philip, facing him, and making Philip startle. "He even took your father's place in a duel against Charles Lee." Her face became a contemplative frown. "...sometimes I wonder if the man sought death."

Sought death.

Sought death?

_John Laurens sought death._

Eliza must have seen the look on Philip's face, because she lifted his chin and smoothed out the edges of his coat, "Now, don't worry over it too long. He made admirable use of what time he had, and I don't doubt he will be remembered by many." She smiled slightly and kissed Philip's forehead. Philip huffed and batted at her, mumbling "not a kid anymore" but Eliza only chuckled.

"Why do you ask, anyway? It's a rather random question, isn't it?"

Philip blinked and looked away. "I was only curious."

"Curious after such an incident...?" Eliza pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh--" Oh. Being caught with a girl. _Romantically._ Shit-- "I-- I wanted to get my mind off it." Philip insisted, furrowing his brow.

To Philip's surprise, she allowed him a small genuine smile. "Alright, dear."

But then Eliza leaned in, voice muted, and whispered "Speak not on it to another soul, I... I would not like to see my dear Alexander condemned."

"Wh--"

Eliza was walking down the hallway, leaving Philip there in the doorway.

_What._

How did Eliza know?! Did she know? Shit, shit, shit, Philip must have messed up, he-- he pressed his hands over his chest, trying to steady himself on his breathing, closing his eyes. His mind raced. There was nothing else she could have meant, surely.

He cast a glance behind him.

That his mother be so patient, so terribly considerate, that... even when her own _husband--_

Although...

...if Eliza possibly knew of her husband's preferences, and yet stuck by his side, endlessly forgiving…

...couldn't Philip do the same with Jack?

Philip smoothed back his hair, ignoring how it only sprang up once more in messy curls. He just-- he just needed to sleep. Give himself time to comprehend. He couldn't...

His pace back to his bedroom was stiff, uncomfortable, cold, aching.

And yet he couldn't get that out of his head.

Not to mention the terrible theory-- the terrible _truth--_ that crept into his mind--

_John Laurens might have sought death._

Well...

...his love _was_ illegal...

...and-- oh. All those nights when Jack would crumble against Philip crying, hating himself for needing help... _oh._

Philip shook.

His best friend's "second chance" was a condemnation. A lifetime of protecting the son of his love who had married another. A lifetime of believing he was a disgusting monster.

Philip squeezed his eyes shut. Frankly… he did not care if Jack may be sinful. Even illegal, once.

He needed to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I would be writing another fic after this one but a few days ago I decided what it will be: a Dear Evan Hansen treebros story. Maybe a bit of pining, maybe a bit of fluff, maybe a few twists... maybe a bit of Hanahaki.
> 
> I may revisit the Hamilton fandom if I get another idea for a story but my interests drift pretty quickly so I will likely be running around dipping my toes in a bit of everything. 
> 
> I'm curious, so please feel free to let me know in the comments if that's something you'd look forward to! Or maybe if there's other ideas you'd want to see toyed with in a DEH or Lams fic?
> 
> Either way I just wanna say thank you for reading and commenting and giving kudos or even just stopping by, the fic's reception has made me feel really welcome here and I'll definitely motivate myself to keep writing :)


	20. To Help a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip is trying very hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts off jarringly with some strong deprecative thoughts, tread lightly.

_Br e a th e_

_j us t n e eded to--_

Laurens's eyes stung, he buckled, he whimpered.

_That's the end isn't it -- ?_

_he knows he knows he kn ows he kno w s_

He felt himself longing and yearning for warmer times and sun and smiles, hell, to remember what warmth was, but-- a coiling, a poison-- the feeling that-- _no, he didn’t deserve that._

_Because you messed up everything._

_You've fucking messed up everything, great job Laurens, you had a single chance-- a--_

He stuttered, unknowing, where was he? Why couldn't he see?

_Your father would be REAL proud of you now, wouldn't he? Your siblings, your dear mother? Wouldn’t they?!_

_For fuck’s sake. Thank God the physical world's rid of you._

* * *

The morning seemed upon Philip faster than a heartbeat. Philip was not eager to greet it. It brought tastes of hollow coldness, icy sunlight, aching.

And a recollection of yesterday.

At the thought Philip found he nearly flung himself from his sheets, and clumsily scraped his hands upon the wall simply to prevent himself from tumbling to the floor. He regained himself inelegantly, reaching drearily for anything to make him decently presentable.

Jack.

Jack was not here -- nothing less than what Philip expected. But Philip knew he wasn't letting Jack hide away only to drown in his own feelings again. Despite all the fog in Philip's head, and how hard it was to see past messy strands of hair over his baggy eyes, he recognized his intent with a prominent clarity.

Jack had shown Philip things could be okay, hadn't he? So Philip was going to do the same for Jack and nothing could stop him.

So making it out the front door became his legendary goal that morning -- but it was quickly halted by his concerned-looking mother who blocked him by the doorway. "Philip?"

Philip blinked a couple times, registering her presence. 

"Uh... I--" He cleared his throat, which protested painfully against the clumsy use of his voice. "I'm going for a quick walk before breakfast."

Eliza's mouth twisted into a frown. It made Philip want to flinch. "Don't you at least want coffee before you go?"

Coffee. Ever since Alexander started letting Philip into his study he was ashamed to say he’d gotten a taste for it. _The nectar of the gods,_ they’d say. That was pretty damn tempting.

But...

Philip swallowed and gritted his teeth. "I need to go help a friend." he explained quietly. He really had no time for this.

Eliza gained no look of understanding, but she seemed satisfied enough with the answer. Her eyes softened slightly and she straightened, stepping out of the path to the door. "Be back soon." Her demeanor whispered _"I expect you to explain this to me later."_

Philip did not have half the brainpower to worry over this insinuation. So he just gave her as wide a grin as he could muster before leaving out the door, fingernails slipping on the cold wood around the doorknob.

Out where the chilled morning air assaulted him in his thin layers, Philip took instantly to scanning the area hastily and purposefully. A few steps out onto the pavement and he realized rather sheepishly that he had no plan for how to tackle this.

He didn't know where Jack was.

Well. That was fine. He was Philip Hamilton! Meticulous planning was not exactly a norm anyway. He would simply head to the lamp post where they talked about--

about--

_John Laurens was in love with Philip's father._

_John Laurens was--_

No, no, shut up, _shut up--!_ That didn't matter right now. It _didn’t._ Jack was still Philip’s friend. _No matter his, uh, preferences._ And Jack needed help. He was Philip’s friend and he needed help.

Philip breathed in.

He would just go to that lamp post and then explore from there.

If that didn't work, well...

...well...

...He'd figure it out when he got there.

* * *

By the time Philip had any luck, he had been trudging in the city streets so long his fingers were starting to become numb, and his head, fuzzy with cold. The sun sure was taking its sweet time to show its face, which stirred up a constant impatience within Philip. His worry made it taste all the more sour.

He had also found the lamp post deserted, and so his steps took him in circles.

Philip was just about considering shouting his friend’s name into the streets and making himself a maddened fool to all passersby when he heard a stuttered gasp from a claustrophobic alleyway.

He swiveled on his toes so quickly that he almost found himself swept off his own clumsy feet. 

“P-Pip?” Jack breathed a fake laugh from where he sat curled up against the brick, small, and cowering, disheveled, and _God,_ his guardian angel should _not_ look this way. “I didn’t think--”

It was too late, for Philip had already tackled the man, trapping him in a messy bearhug and startling a yelp from him. “Jackie, god damn it, you’re something terribly cruel to have scared me like that!”

His trembling friend gave no answer but a whimper. It sounded gross and uncharacteristic coming from Jack, and Philip felt pangs of fiery resolve upon hearing these noises, knowing he could not let this continue.

So he nuzzled in the crook of his friend’s neck, where wavy strands of his hair fell from the ponytail that was falling apart. The closeness would feel childish and shameful with anyone but Philip’s family, brought about only by his old habits of comforting Jackie on those evenings when Jack’s head was too heavy.

“Jack, let’s just go home.”

The silence dragged on as Philip waited for Jack to scrape together a semblance of a shaky sentence in his head.

“You mean to say-- say that--” His voice wavered to nothing, for a moment, before he managed to speak once more. “You can’t be comfortable with the idea, now, that you…” It only drifted away again.

“I--” Philip withdrew and brushed curls from his eyes, feeling an uncomfortable lump in his throat once given the opportunity to fully take in Jack’s sunken face. Jack was fluttering between one world and the next, eyes only dimly registering what moved before him. 

_And he is a sinner._

Jack might have seen this thought painted out on Philip’s face judging by how his throat bobbed and his gaze fell, glimmering with guilt. “Do not lie for my sake.” he mumbled simply, his voice a shadow. “Speak your mind, there will be nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“I won’t lie.” Philip insisted with a furrowed brow, finding a resounding steadiness briefly in his words. “And the truth is I won’t see you like this any longer, I just-- I want things to go back to how they were.” His eyes flicked away shamefully when his voice cracked.

Jack opened his mouth but Philip didn’t allow him to respond. He shoved himself to his feet and let his heel dig into the dirt, adamantly ignoring the ache that came with it, all in order to yank Jack up with him.

“Christ--!” Jack smoothed down the ends of his coat and coughed into his arm. “I… ha-- I can’t believe you still manage to startle me with how quickly you’ve grown.”

“Yeah, well I’m not a kid anymore,” Philip snorted, flicking at Jack’s nose. 

“Gah!” Jack recoiled and gasped incredulously. “You assault me!” he accused dramatically, and Philip laughed as Jack shoved him back by his shoulders.

A heavy relief was washing over him in waves, warm against the air. The sun, peeking out behind looming masses of wispy clouds, was beginning to backlight Jack’s figure. The figure of his friend who was finally wearing that wide smile which so belonged on his freckled face.

“Hey, let’s wait till we’re home to make a scene? Frankly I kinda don’t want all of New York to think I’m crazy.” Philip muttered while shaking his head at Jack good-naturedly. 

Jackie’s smile wavered. “Well… it is only a matter of time, I should think.” he responded quieter but lightly teasingly. Philip rolled his eyes fondly but didn’t reply.

Jack was letting Philip drag him along and Philip couldn’t tell if this was from exhaustion or hesitance.

He supposed it was more likely the latter when, after a few uncomfortably quiet paces, Jack whispered, “You’re... truly unfazed…? You-- you do _know,_ do you not?”

Philip narrowly avoided a jarring halt and swallowed.

“It--” He breathed in. There was no reason for words to fail him now. “It… may… have taken some time to come to terms with.” he mumbled rather pathetically.

He felt Jack’s wrist slip from his grasp when Jack stopped walking.

“But,” Philip sputtered, whirling around to face him, “I don’t see why the knowledge should tarnish our friendship.” He fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. “It’s not like you could be condemned for anything, in your… current state.”

Jack’s next deadpan tone startled Philip. “I’m supposed to _protect_ you aren't I??" His next words were choked out. "Instead, my disgusting wretched soul dictates I will succeed at nothing but partaking in fleeting moments of forbidden desire and yearning for those who I harm with my goddamn presence.” He spoke with his eyes lowered and blank as if reciting a script.

“Bullshit…!” Philip hissed through his teeth, spurred into a trembling indignant tone by the horrid way which Jack addressed himself. Jack jumped, eyeing Philip with bewilderment and disbelief while Philip grabbed his wrist again between his fingers. “John Laurens,” he announced, letting the fire seep from his voice to be replaced with an almost playful resolve, “You couldn’t be further from the truth and if I have to _kill_ myself to prove that to you, _so be it.”_

“That’s not necessary!” was the first thing Jack insisted, eyes wide.

Philip nearly laughed. “You think I was serious? I would never put Mom and Pops through that. And--” He sighed, squeezing Jack’s hand. “I still remember everything you did for me, watching me, encouraging me, making every day _fun._ You made it so that I never had to be alone. So why do you think I’ll let you be alone now?

“I… I also remember what you said, about taking care of myself. And not spending my life on someone who has died. Things like that are why I’m still here. And I know both Eliza and Alexander would be just as grateful as I am to know you’re the one behind it all.” 

Philip narrowed his eyes steadily as he watched John, hoping the sincerity of his message transmitted itself through his gaze alone. “So honestly, the best thing you can do with that nonsense about “failing to protect me” is shove it up your ass.”

Philip whirled around with smug finality and marched off back home. He supposed he spoke crudely -- quite improperly for the first child of the Hamilton household -- but also he didn’t care because Jack was snorting with laughter behind him and slipping on the sidewalk and it made Philip swell with pride. He practically forgot what it was that bothered the both of them.

 _Oh right. Jack is a damn sinner._

_And he loves your--_

No. Didn’t matter right now. It didn’t matter.

_He loves--_

It didn’t matter.

It _didn’t._

Philip gave Jack a small smile over his shoulder. 

And Jack smiled back.

* * *

In the Hamilton residence, hunched away by the stacks of paper painted yellow by candlelight, Alexander Hamilton clutched a particular draft of paper between trembling fingers.

He hissed under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as if enduring the earsplitting turbulence of a hurricane.

This was the only way.


	21. Knock 'em Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the summer fair has arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update's a bit late. Irrationally rough days lately :/
> 
> Considering winter break's coming to an end, I may end up changing the schedule to once a week anyway, to make sure I can keep up with everything. So expect a new chapter Tuesday or Wednesday-ish.
> 
> Also the following chapters will likely grow longer, as I stuff more content into each one in order to cover complex events more effectively. Hopefully the pacing still works!

Philip didn’t… _mean_ to avoid Jack. In the days that followed.

God, he really didn’t...

But he could not deny there was this-- this stiff _tension_ that now stuck to his friend like cobwebs and dust. The tension that made Philip acutely, painfully aware of every time Jack lost himself in another world with a smitten look behind his drooping eyelids. Staring at _him._ Every time Jack stiffened around _him,_ every time Jack cast a stray glance towards _him, him, him…_

Philip really, really didn’t mean to be. He really wished terribly dearly that he could just _forget,_ and that he didn’t have to make Jack jump and swallow and fidget like that _every_ time he was caught. So that everything would just go back to normal. Like he said he wanted. Everything should be back to normal. Happy, innocent Philip and his best friend Jackie.

 _But this isn’t normal,_ his brain would remind him, _those desires are not normal. He is not normal._

 _Shut up. He’s my friend, he’s as normal as anyone._ Philip would shoot back. Usually, to no avail.

One day, Philip was exiting his father’s study (his visits were more brief nowadays; he found the air quieter and heavier with some sense of concern that he didn't understand), when he found Jack stood quietly, wistfully, with his gaze upon a stack of letters deliberately tucked away behind dusty book covers and ink pots.

Philip tilted his head with a curious recognition. They must have been the correspondence between Alexander and Laurens, on which Philip had constantly hounded Jack over. Philip noted that Jack had never actually told him why those letters seemed to bother them-- both Alexander, strangely enough, as well as Jack, who stood there now with that distant lovestruck look in his eye--

_...Oh._

Philip let the icy cold realization wash over him no longer, not wishing to bear how Jack might whirl towards him in alarm and shame, and instead stumbled over his feet fleeing that suddenly terribly claustrophobic room.

God, what kind of shitty friend was he?

It was no surprise that Philip was ecstatic when the news reached him that the summer fair would be taking place in only a few days, accompanied by the arrival of none other than that dear Theodosia and her mother ( _dear,_ huh -- an odd endearment suddenly snuck in for someone Philip had never seen in person, he thought).

He found in his head, alongside the giddiness of meeting his friend, the relief that he might have the opportunity to loosen up at such an event and then return to Jackie once everything was normal again.

Of course he never told anyone this, not even when the day came and his mother picked up on his restless fidgeting.

“Still yourself, dear, you’re going to set your coat askew.” she would fuss, her brow furrowed as she stood inches from Philip’s face. Philip was ducking away and protesting at her constant fixing his suit.

“It’s not a ball,” Philip grumbled. He swatted at Eliza brushing curly bangs from his face. “And you should know at my age I can fix myself up on my own just fine, can’t I Pops??” 

“Hah, without a shadow of a doubt,” Alexander responded with a proud smirk, “I should think any son of mine perfectly capable.” He was standing aside in the doorway, watching the two. It was admittedly a little surprising witnessing him take the time to see his son off, for once (especially given his recent distance), but Philip had no intent on complaining. “Though honestly-- I can’t say I ever envisioned seeing any son of mine dress up to attend a summer festival with a Burr.” He looked off, scoffing and giving a condescending gesture. “Of all people…”

“Is it really such, that our boy is attending a festival with a Burr,” Eliza inquired sagely, while she was tying off Philip’s bundle of curly hair in a neat ponytail, “or is it that a Burr is attending a festival with a Hamilton?”

"I don't see why the wording holds any significance here…" Hamilton muttered stubbornly, but the smile on his face as he looked away betrayed his tone. 

Eliza chuckled softly. "No, I don't think it matters, truly. The situation shouldn't matter much either." She stood straight proudly, seemingly satisfied with her work on Philip's hair, judging by how she orbited him observingly with a warmly pleased smile. "Political rivals are not quite personal rivals, you know."

"For all I know, Burr should not hesitate to make personal attacks in order to gain an advantage!" Hamilton protested, waving his arms in wild exaggerated gestures.

"Theodosia isn't a pawn in a political game, she's my friend." Philip interrupted with impatient finality. "And this is the first time I'm ever gonna see her. Father, I'm not throwing away my shot," he said, shooting Alexander a playful grin. 

Hamilton just scoffed and folded his arms.

But then, when Philip was making his way out the door, he heard Hamilton lean in slightly and whisper "Knock 'em dead, son."

* * *

Philip found that the harsh sun and chatter that greeted him outside the front door was much less encouraging.

It wasn't that he was _nervous,_ he told himself while shakily stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, but well-- communicating with his friend Theodosia was confusing enough through correspondence, and the concept of oral conversation with that brilliantly confounding girl presented many new challenges.

He'd surely have to tone down any tics and mannerisms, of course. A Hamilton should not come off as fidgety or unsure, especially in front of their family's political rival. Philip certainly would not have Theodosia reading him like an open book…

Yes, Philip Hamilton was great at composure and social cues and everything at all and he would be absolutely _fine._

_Because I am the confident, bold and stubborn son of Alexander Hamilton himself! Not to mention his gorgeous and prestigious wife! I shall have every fair lady's head turn my way the second I step into that park!_

...yeah, he... he kinda wished he'd have made Jack come along. Philip admitted Jack could sometimes fill the air with a surprising sense of ease, and he'd felt the absence of this painfully, lately. 

Jack, who was now likely standing alone, trapped under claustrophobic webs of yearning...

The entrance to the park greeted Philip with fiery potpourris of colors and chatter. It advertised itself as more than it was, because celebrating the end of summer really just meant watching moms get together to discuss things like climate and family, while the sons competed over political status. The real fun started when the sun set… and when people began to bring in liquor.

He didn’t concern himself with this right now, though, instead hovering by the gate and letting his gaze drift across the premises, scanning for that one--

Aaron Burr, striding purposefully along the sidewalk with a hawk-like gaze scrutinizing the area in which he was to send his daughter into. He hardly looked happy with it.

Never in Philip’s life did he think he’d be childishly eager to see the man, but here he was, hurrying toward him with insistent haste. Because she was _here,_ who might be his _closest friend,_ no longer bound by simple correspondence -- so fierily exciting as it was terrifying. 

_She should be significantly more adept in social nuance when meeting her face-to-face, after all--_

Philip chose to shove this thought away in favor of scanning around Mr. Burr curiously. _There,_ there she was, the swish of turquoise frills, that must be her. Philip caught glimpses of her darkened skin and the curls that tumbled across her shoulder blades. And in half a moment the world was speeding up relentlessly in tune with Philip’s heartbeat. Because she was turning around to see him, flutter of a dress, subtle eyes widening, and the glimmer of painted nails, supple lips--

Oh _shit._

No, there was no way-- this could _not_ be the girl he had been writing to all these months!

“Mr. Hamilton?” her honey-like voice jolted him from his frenzied thoughts before he had even a sliver of opportunity to process them. 

“J-just Philip, please,” Philip sputtered chuckling-- she was _right there,_ she was _real--_ “We’ve talked plenty. There’s no need to be formal... Theodosia,” he tested the name on his tongue tentatively. 

“I suppose.” Theodosia’s voice was soft but steady, concealing carefully kept layers of years and years and years. Philip felt a strongly rekindling desire to understand it all -- to know this puzzle like the back of his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, miss,” Philip flashed her a smile, tossing a couple strands of hair over his shoulder in favor of pressing a feather-light kiss to Theodosia’s knuckles. Because he is Philip Hamilton, and Philip Hamilton does _not_ flip out at the sight of a pretty girl. Not even when her eyes flash with a sudden daring and a faint smirk teases at her lips and he hears her utter--

“You’re even more handsome than your charming writing might suggest.”

“Oh uh--”

And then Burr came over to interrupt them thank God, leaning over to speak quietly in Theodosia’s ear, something that sounded like “You have fun, alright? Knock ‘em dead Theo.” As much as Philip found himself repulsed by the disdainful glance Burr threw his way, he was also rather disoriented by the distantly fond tone he used to address his daughter. Philip admittedly had never heard him speak as such -- maybe that was why Burr glowered at him so. Typical... the man probably didn’t know “vulnerability” was even in the English dictionary.

All of Burr’s walls were already back up when he turned to address Philip wordlessly, with a fake smile and an extended hand. Philip shuddered, detecting underneath this look the secret _“Do not try a THING.”_

But he took the handshake, hastily collecting himself. He forced a reassuring smile -- as if agreeing to a promise. He should not lose his manners.

“Somehow he didn’t turn you to ice straight away.” Theodosia remarked with self-assured amusement once her father was out of earshot. Her sentences were concise and they concealed shadows. “He’s protective.”

Philip forcefully bit back an _"I'm too hot for that,”_ not wishing to tarnish his impression. Instead he simply smiled.

 _Because proper first impressions, that’s definitely what mister lady killer is known for, huh?_ he found his brain remarking with a sarcastic drawl (strikingly reminiscent of Jack's), freezing him.

He suppressed the thought, rather humiliated. No-- no, _frustrated._ Not humiliated.

“You seem to know how to carry yourself.” Theodosia was saying thoughtfully, a glimmer in her golden eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. Come on -- I bet you’ve people waiting for you.” She smiled on her way towards the park gates, smoothing out the creases in her dress.

“Ha, I think you overestimate my status,” Philip responded in a muted but steady manner, hoping it came off as small talk, while he matched Theodosia's pace. “My imminent legacy isn’t well-known, yet.” he added in afterthought, in a sudden spark.

"Legacy," Theodosia smirked and waved her hand dismissively, which absolutely baffled Philip. "Aren't you a bit young for that? You've already done so much anyway haven't you?"

Philip matched her smirk almost challengingly. "You forget I'm a Hamilton, and what seems massive to anyone else should be trivial to me."

Theodosia laughed, bubbly and wholehearted, and Philip felt his breath hitch. "Of course! How could I forget?"

And, well, oh _man._

_I wonder if this was what Jack felt like..._

* * *

Theodosia knew her father probably wouldn’t approve of her blatancy, but-- how could she possibly resist, knowing the stutter and the light painted blush that would result from it?

Maybe it just wasn’t fair of her, to string this boy along like one would tease a cat with a cat toy just out of its reach. But she kind of just… _wanted_ to, in order to see how he struggled not to smile and how his gaze darted away with uncharacteristic bashfulness. 

She’d waited so long to know what he looked like. To see all of her endless imaginings manifested and patched together into this imperfect collage of bright ambition and fire and promise that was Philip Hamilton.

She could surely indulge just a little.

Theodosia dismissed the train of thought while her eyes skimmed the crowds. She thought a place like this may be more organized but it didn't seem so. People gathered in messy clusters chattering loudly under colored streamers and stalls. The pungent scents of fruity cocktails and skewers swam through the area, filling Theodosia with a light-hearted air.

It was lovely but she remained to herself (well, by Philip's side). A place like this was easy to get lost in and she wasn't eager to rush.

"This way. I didn't have lunch before this." Philip was ushering her over to a brightly colored stand with fruit bowls and tough loaves of wheat bread.

“Really.” Theodosia hummed in acknowledgement. Maybe he had spent far too long tidying himself up for the event -- maybe he’d left in a rush. 

“Eliza clearly thought it would be better for me to spend the time 'making me look pretty,' she said. I don’t know if I agree. Or whether it was even effective or not.” Philip raised an eyebrow in thought. The corner of his mouth quirked when he spoke “What might you think?”

Theodosia felt amusement bubble up within her when she met his eye. He was testing the waters. For a heartbeat she sifted through a few responses. She settled on none. 

She simply gave Philip a light "hmm" and a suave smile, a _take it how you will,_ and Philip was left to stare dumbly.

Quite enough of a victory in her book.

“Did you settle in well?” Philip asked suddenly. An attempt to change the topic, evidently. Theodosia looked back up at him, watching as he rather messily dug into a skewer. A well-taught Hamilton, eating like an animal, and wiping juice from his mouth with his sleeve. A... quirky sight. But Theodosia just… couldn’t find it within herself to be disdainful. 

“Sure, it was tiring but fine. Though it did no favors for Mother’s illness." Theo's gaze drifted.

"Oh... shoot," His tone was soft but seemingly unintentionally so. "I'm sorry to hear that, Theodosia."

Theodosia shrugged, unwilling to speak more on the matter.

"She's really been fighting it for a while, hasn't she?" Philip's gaze timidly flicked to Theodosia, while she assumed he processed her hint, and he continued "Well, anyway, it's a good thing that you're here, even if you may not be able to attend school with me. It's absurd, the sort of bustle around here, and I suppose it could get overwhelming sometimes but it offers a lot of opportunities once you're used to it. And you seem like someone who, I mean-- you seem pretty good at gauging crowds..."

Theodosia narrowed her eyes at Philip, trying to understand whether his rambling came from a desperate attempt to leave the previous topic behind, or whether his flustered state still persisted, or whether it was simply a part of his personality.

Philip looked to her. "I haven't perhaps--? Well, I apologize if I've talked too long, it sort of becomes a habit with new people."

Theodosia smiled slightly. Hidden uncertainty. Just like in his letters. He was unsure of his footing, and he wasn’t used to being unsure of his footing.

So she teased at it.

"I noticed that in your first letter," she commented simply. Philip cleared his throat, with an awkward huff, and ducked his head almost shamefully. And Theodosia-- she bit her lip in an attempt at suppression, but she-- she _laughed._ And she could hear the undertone of Philip’s bashful chuckles joining hers, like the morning sun’s rays joining waves of water, and it… it--

Well. She was rather enjoying this, she realized.

* * *

The rest of the fair was rather uninteresting. Philip’s radiance seemed to overshadow quite a lot of it.

 _You won’t meet a lady killer like me anywhere in Connecticut,_ he had written, and Theodosia had doubted it at the time, but she was beginning to see a truth in those words. His family stuck out like a sore thumb in the political environment, with his passionate rambling, fiery eyes, and secretive bashfulness stirring some fascinated curiosity within Theodosia.

The kind of curiosity that her father would say led only to disaster.

She would grow closer, let herself grow vulnerable, and then Philip -- and his family -- would have her secrets to run off with.

So as much as it pained her Theodosia acknowledged she ought not to let this become the case.

It was hardly a good idea to grow close in the first place, considering the rumors floating about -- “He struggles with commitment,” a couple ladies whispered to Theodosia when they had pulled her aside, “he's _begun_ to court many but he's never brought a single woman home” -- and Theodosia was less than eager to spend so much attention on someone who may only see her as a prize. Something to show off and then throw away. 

Yes, it was a jarring contrast to the mindsets of these ladies who swooned over him and any other handsome-looking gentleman who passed, but-- she couldn’t help it. Frankly, it seemed ridiculous.

Although...

...to be fair…

...for once-- she was having a hard time figuring out if Philip saw her like that.

Because Aaron Burr’s warnings were not for nothing; her father knew how to read people. Just like her. And yet at the same time, a careless womanizer was not the type of person who would…

...blush so easily; or offer shyly to dance as an apology for leaving Theodosia for a couple of his friends earlier; or stir bubbly laughter from her with every dumb joke he made; or avoid getting inebriated purely in order to be able to walk her home at nightfall.

Or ask such an odd question, in the thick silent atmosphere that cloaked their journey to Theodosia’s residence, worded as “Theodosia, if a very close friend did something immoral -- or, something the world may deem immoral, at least -- how do you still stand by their side?”

A tilt of the head. “Surely whether or not you're even _supposed_ to depends on the friend and their action,” Theodosia responded quietly with a voice thickly masking her confusion. “Did you do something?” She drifted towards the doorway.

“No!” Philip laughed. “I just have a friend I’m trying to reconnect with. You seemed like you might have good advice, and… well, nevermind it truly, my mind tends to drift in the evening.”

“Evidently,” Theodosia gave a shadow of a smile. “Just…”

Talk less. She needed to talk less. 

“Think over it carefully. It sounds complex. You shouldn’t do anything that puts you in a bad position.”

That... was not talking less. 

“Right,” Philip huffed, rolling his eyes. “I won't be in any danger. They just… I don't know how to help them.”

Theodosia shrugged. “They should be lucky to have your companionship either way.”

That was _not_ talking less. 

“Good luck with your friend.” she continued, still.

“Thank you. I can expect another letter right???” Philip blurted out before Theodosia could start to close the door.

Theodosia sighed.

_My father wouldn't approve, truly. But--_

Philip’s eyes glimmered. The imperfect boy spoke of something bigger; he seemed like he was part of something bigger. This reckless intuition seemed like something that ought to be understood carefully, lest the (unfairly endearing) fool let it lead him into disaster rather than glory.

_Who else might achieve such a thing as well as I could?_

“Sure.” Theodosia smiled. And then she closed the door, letting the echo of that odd day simmer in the back of her mind.

_Sorry, father, but this is a narrative I think I want to be a part of._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for potential clarification after the cliffhanger last chapter, this takes place vaguely sometime during Alexander's drafting of _this mysterious paper that no one knows the identity of totally haha_ , but not after he's published anything. Which is why nothing's gone to shit yet lol


	22. I Hope you're Satisfied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wuh oh

_You have invented a new kind of stupid._

_A "damage-you-can-never-undo" kind of stupid_

_an "open-all-the-cages-in-the-zoo" kind of stupid_

_a "clearly-you-didn't-think-this-through" kind of stupid._

* * *

It had been a week or so after Philip had attended the fair with Theodosia. The excited buzz in his head was just beginning to wear off.

(She was _here,_ finally _here,_ in the flesh herself -- in all her silent wit and curious eyes -- and Philip already felt himself helplessly addicted to their conversational standoffs, gushing to Jack that evening, _“Someone whose wit renders me speechless! Me, Philip Hamilton, can you imagine?!”)_

Philip hesitated. _Think over it,_ Theodosia had told him.

( _“Is that what you felt, Jack?”_ he never got the courage to ask. _“Do you feel the same flutter, the same magnetism, the same thrill? Did his letters make you feel the same?”)_

( _“Is your supposedly sinful love really just the same as mine?”_ he never got the courage to ask.)

And as Jack grew more and more reserved, more and more... _cold_ , everything only continued to hush unpleasantly in pace. Before it started… _plummeting._

Of course, it started small -- hardly noticeable at first. Yet, between his study sessions, Philip began to take note of a chilly air that was descending over the Hamilton household.

Alexander already didn’t leave his study often nowadays, but now, Eliza would barely even speak up to acknowledge his presence.

People began... _talking_ about him.

Little Angie started to hear arguing from his study.

Alexander started sleeping in his office instead of his bedroom with Eliza.

Philip’s aunt Angelica visited all the way from London _(damn);_ no one would give Philip any indication as to why she did.

She simply strode directly to where Alexander was hunched over in his office, and then-- and then muffled _shouting_ thrummed against the walls.

And then…

“Jack!” Philip pleaded late one night in his room, “Do you know what the hell’s going on?! Angie doesn’t deserve to keep worrying like this.”

He expected anything but Jack’s shaky inhalation of breath and his steps backward. “Well…” he sighed as his icy gaze flicked to the side.

Philip bristled. “...You’re doing it again.” he almost growled, before biting off his indignant tone. There was no reason to take out his agitation on Jack. They… they were distant enough as it was.

Jack shook his head. “Shit... sorry, Philip. It’s just not quite mine to discuss. It…” his voice faltered through gritted teeth as his eyes rested on the doorway. “Your father needs to talk to you about it.”

Philip watched him quietly -- for in many cases, he’d come to realize, he could glean much more from Jack’s mannerisms than from his words -- and Philip chose not to press the issue any longer.

He instead chose to get up and stride towards his father’s study.

“Wait!” Jack called, stumbling over his own boots in pursuit. “Philip, I didn’t say he was _ready_ to!”

“I’m his _son,”_ Philip snapped stubbornly. “If it’s affecting his family, his family deserves to know about it!”

“It isn’t as simple as that,” Jack hissed, but Philip was already gone.

What Philip didn't hear was Jack's hushed and defeated whisper, "I-I-I just don't want you to get hurt..."

Philip vehemently shoved the office door open with his shoulder. Alexander jumped and scrambled against the desk where he sat, eyes wide with surprise, and promptly, dread. “Philip?”

“Father,” he greeted curtly, walking up with his palms on the desk. A couple papers fluttered to the floor, and his gaze darted quickly to Alexander’s. Alexander looked… exhausted. It was briefly disorienting.

Philip cleared his throat. “I needed to check on you, we’re getting worried as hell.”

Alexander fidgeted, closed his eyes, and gave an irritatingly simple reply of a huff and a muted “Language…”

Philip scoffed in disbelief. “Pops, I’m _eighteen!_ And _you’re_ avoiding the subject!”

“I… I am quite alright, thank you Philip, why don’t you check on your mother?” he mumbled, and he turned back towards his desk, hunched over quietly. A shaky sigh wracked his frame.

“As if I’d believe that--”

“I am _fine,_ dammit!” he snapped, and then recoiled with an immediate regret in his eyes.

Philip blinked, eyes widened ever-so-slightly. They darted briefly around the drearily disorganized room, taking in its pitiful appearance.

He cleared his throat, swallowed, and willed himself not to falter in front of Alexander. “...Father… I-I-I believe we both realize there is no one else who seems willing to be so persistent with you right now.” he whispered a little dangerously. “And I, I can’t fathom why, but I’m… you’ve created the footsteps for me to craft my own from, y-you gave me my _blood,_ Father, and I could never turn against you. So just tell me what’s going on.”

Alexander stiffened. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times.

Then, without a word, he thumbed shakily through a stack of yellowed papers at the corner of the table, and slid a particular group of papers between his fingers towards Philip. Philip blinked a couple times with bewilderment.

He tiptoed forward, eyes scanning some of the bold text at the top of the page:

**The Reynolds Pamphlet.**

“The Reynolds Pamphlet.”

Philip found himself whispering, breathlessly, “My real crime is…”

Alexander might have said something.

Philip didn’t hear.

His head was buzzing. It was screaming, it was guttural, and red, and crimson, and seething, howling--

_No, my father wouldn’t do that, Jack._

“...a-an...”

_You're worrying over nothing, Jack. You're worrying over nothing._

“...an amorous connection… with James Reynolds's _wife?!”_ Philip was trembling, voice raising, tearing the paper from where his grip wrenched into it. “While we were visiting Mr. Schuyler?!”

Alexander was motionless. His eyes were closed. He was bearing the brunt of Philip’s hurricane of fear and fury as if he knew he deserved it.

He granted Philip nothing but a quiet nod, a whimper of a sigh, shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“Th-there’s no way! It’s not true! You didn’t write this!” Philip sputtered with weak desperation. His gaze through narrowed eyes bore into his father, his teeth were gritted, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t--_ “Y-y-you must be joking, this-- this isn’t funny Father--”

“It is true.” Alexander murmured with his eyes glued to his desk. “It is all there. And I know-- God, I know, there is nothing I-I-I could possibly _start_ to say to--”

_No. No, no, no--_

“Father-- I thought you…” Philip breathed between shaky gasps, “He said that you… he told me you’d n-never…”

_You’re right. Your father is strong just like you._

At that, Alexander’s dark gaze flicked up to Philip. “...Who?”

And Philip looked up, searchingly, upon his father’s defeated frame. He took it in, and he breathed in, and he thought-- into his thoughts came--

The image of Jack, with similar defeat, similar dread. Most prominently -- _heartbreak._ It flashed in Philip’s eyes.

Jack must have _known._

He must have known this would happen from the start.

He pushed that down for Philip.

Philip opened his mouth to answer, finding his voice come icily, “Just another person you’ve hurt with your stupid reckless love.”

He shoved the paper in Alexander’s gaping wide-eyed face and spun around on his heel to storm out from the room, quivering helplessly.

* * *

“Wh-wh-why?”

Philip gasped for air, wrapped up in Jack’s embrace against the pillows. He tilted his head flush against Jack’s shoulder, breathing in shakily, and letting go of any semblance of dignity in favor of a place to dry his tears.

Jack was holding him closer than he ever had since… since his _confession;_ their distance was smaller than it had ever been since then; Philip needed it more than anything right now.

“Why did he do that? T-to our family name? Why did he write it himself?” he whispered, flicking his tearful gaze up to Jack’s face. This was to catch his friend scowling down the doorway as if it had wronged him personally -- before Jack met his gaze with something more reserved.

“There were rumors about embezzlement circulating lately, from his paying that man so much money.” he explained quietly, simply, with a soft exhalation of breath. That man... James Reynolds: husband of the woman Hamilton took to his own bed. The name stirred hatred and shame in Philip’s gut. “He sought to disprove them, and clear his name, by exposing himself for a crime that would affect his political status less.”

“His political status…” Philip echoed in disbelief, “...he saved his political status and destroyed his familial one.”

“I know.” was all Jack whispered.

“Eliza must be devastated.”

“I know.”

“I need to help her.”

“You need to steady yourself first.” Jack’s gaze was trained gently on him, brimming endlessly with that enchanting warmth that Philip usually saw in his mother's eyes. Philip searched it silently.

“...How are _you_ so steady?”

Jack withdrew slightly in surprise and befuddlement. "What do you mean?"

"You almost saw it happen… you had to convince yourself it wouldn't." It was half a statement and half a realization. "It must have hurt, because, I mean, don't you… y-you know…" Philip looked away; it felt shameful, but he just couldn't bring himself to utter such a term as _love_ to describe what must be between Jack and his father.

Jack was quiet for a moment.

"Alexander has been married to Eliza for years, and I'm okay. What's a little more?" He shrugged. "Just worry about yourself and your mother, not me."

"For years." Philip parroted, blatantly disobeying Jack. "You've felt towards him all that time. You repressed it all that time," he murmured, breathily, a statement woven with a quiet… awe.

Jack shrunk in on himself. "I mean, I suppose.”

“Man, my father’s an idiot,” Philip sputtered with a weak excuse for a chuckle.

His friend looked away, huffing quietly to himself. “...Listen, I… I know what he did is unforgivable. He _is_ an idiot. That's the only way he's been... _raised,_ though: making decisions on impulse, setting his mind on surviving, defending his honor. He stumbles into his steps while he crafts them.” Jack whispered. “That doesn’t justify what he’s done. But he wants to make things right just as much as--”

His words buzzed in Philip's brain. “You’re probably just wishing he did that with you instead of her.” he growled, stubbornness and sour resent overshadowing inhibition. Jack had _no_ right to be defending--

Jack hissed with surprise and humiliation (and a reddened face), jerking back in a manner that nearly shoved Philip off his lap. “Oh yes, because that’s why I stood by when he married Eliza, wasn’t it?! When I repressed my feelings for years? It was to hope he would give in to my selfishness and tear his own reputation apart?!”

Philip opened and closed his mouth, shrinking under the scalding gaze of his friend -- _defeat, dread, heartbreak_ \-- and wringing his hands together. “I-I-- well...” He tried awkwardly, sheepishly, to laugh softly, “I, yeah, th-that wasn't proper of me. I'm sorry. "I... guess I inherited a bit of his impulsivity.” His smile didn't quite work.

Thankfully, Jack’s gaze softened somewhat, and he sighed, “It’s okay.”

“No, it--” Philip’s voice faltered, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he looked up from under his eyelashes. It was suddenly hard to speak. “well, I-I guess I’m just trying to say I’m sorry for everything.”

Jack blinked.

Philip cleared his throat, for there was something Jack clearly wasn't getting, and so he tried weakly to fish up that resolve he once had; the one that could make Jack feel better, the one to make up for his mistakes. “You-- you had to sit through all this, and just choke it all down, even with… how _painful_ it’s gotta be.” He swallowed. “Y-you never had a shoulder to cry against, that was my fault. I’m sorry for struggling to come to terms with what you said. And pushing you away.”

Jack looked down, brushing curls of hair from over his shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize for that, Philip. I think anyone would be quite unsettled at the news that their best friend is a sinner.”

Philip shook his head. He just had to work up the courage-- work up the courage-- _“A-a-are_ you though?”

Jack stilled, tilting his head ever-so-slightly.

“Because to me--" he closed his eyes-- "you’ve done nothing sinful. You’ve put your own worries aside to help people close to you. To understand their point of view even when they’ve done something terrible. To stand beside them through anything even if it risks your own life.” His voice had lowered to a quivering whisper. “You just… want to love and to be loved.”

Philip finally looked back up at him. “...isn’t that just like anyone else…?” He breathed in. “Didn’t Alexander’s actions hurt you just like anyone else…?”

His friend opened and closed his mouth a couple times, hands placed shaking in his lap.

Philip bit his lip, gaze darting to the side. This may not be a good thing to say-- maybe this was--?

Ah, _fuck it._ Inhibition never stopped a Hamilton.

“Y-you’re really amazing. I think…” Philip swallowed. “I-in another life… y-y-you would be really good for my dad. You'd have the intuition to stop him from destroying himself like this. I think he’d be happy with you.”

“I…” Jack was looking down, fingernails digging into his trousers, and Philip watched as a couple tears rolled down his cheeks, glistening in the candle light.

All Philip’s worries about sin and impropriety vanished just like that. Seeing Jack quiver so...

Philip leaned forward and hugged him.

* * *

Philip still struggled and wrestled with coming to terms with what his father had done. Especially when, later that night, he was sitting there with Eliza gently reassuring her and rubbing circles into her back. Her bedroom smelled of smoke and decay.

She was so quiet, so broken, yet so stoic in Alexander’s betrayal. Philip thought that his mother must be the strongest person he’d ever known.

She deserved better, truly.

But he had... reason, to look to his father, too, and to realize the struggles that he hid in his shameful demeanor. To consider what Jack had told him.

Philip could be stubborn in his views against Hamilton…

...or he could be stubborn in putting it aside to be the one to uphold his family name.

He was their eldest son, after all. Without a father to lean on, Philip would definitively be next in line, bearing the expectations and failures of his family to make them into something more.

 _“You gave me my_ blood, _Father, and I could never turn against you.”_

That night Philip decided to revisit Alexander’s office, where he slumped over against the desk as if already asleep, before Philip realized he was simply writing tiredly.

Philip made some offhand comment about the time, which Alexander shrugged off, after looking up at Philip with an odd expression that he could only describe as _lost_ and _weakly pleading._

Alexander returned to writing after that, and Philip couldn’t find anything to do other than stand beside him quietly.

Eventually his father just dropped his quill and buried his face in his hands with a dull whimper, something that sounded like _“If I could change everything… Lord, I want to change everything...”_

Philip was only still, for a moment, before he placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and drew him into a hug, much to his surprise.

Maybe Philip’s father didn't deserve it quite yet. Philip knew what had been done. But if no one else would stand for Alexander, in the midst of betrayal and grieving... Philip knew there was no way he couldn’t. There was no way he wouldn’t make himself stronger… by _being the better person._

He had decided. What was left of the Hamilton family name was in his hands now. He’d do anything to piece it back together.

He’d do anything to defend it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _wuh oh_


	23. Flicker Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a stumble, a bit of a clash. Everyone's just trying to stay sane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't know when this became a soap opera

Philip Hamilton had fallen into a… routine. Study in the kitchen with Eliza, so that he could keep Angelica pleasantly entertained and unaware of the turmoil raging around her, and to bear the brunt of Eliza’s coldness; and then, before dinner, see Alexander in his study to talk to him in hushed tones about what the hell he’s supposed to do next.

And then, after supper, sit in his room with Jack to hear him say that Philip’s doing amazing and hear that everything’s gonna be okay, so that everything felt just a little like it’s worth it.

Yeah, Philip was doing okay. He was almost proud of himself.

But it was all quite a lot anyway. Philip knew he ought to find an out. A separate world, some respite, or haven.

Some, ah, some... _Theodosia Burr’s_ house.

“But you really should not be here.” she insisted quietly at the front door, for perhaps the fourth time, her gaze through narrowed eyes roving over him meticulously. Philip felt uncomfortably vulnerable but it wasn’t like he’d back down. Still, his friend continued “My father already hated your family. My dear mother barely bothered to pay you mind." Theodosia tutted. "And a good thing too, considering the first thing to garner her attention was that ridiculous scandal.” 

Philip cleared his throat, hiding his irritated shriveling insides behind a puffed out chest. “But unless I’m mistaken that doesn’t touch on _your_ opinion of my family.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or... _me.”_

Theodosia very silently crossed her arms, stiff where she stood in the looming doorway. Philip was fixed under a cold noncommittal gaze.

He flashed her a grin smoothly. “Aren’t we friends, Theo?”

“...It’s... Theodosia.” she murmured softly, backing up and closing the door.

Philip swallowed.

Well, shit.

…

Philip knocked again.

_“Philip,_ for heaven’s sake--!” Theodosia scoffed through the crack in the door, almost laughing down at him.

“Listen, Miss Theodosia,” he interrupted, sweetening his tone generously, “we don’t even have to converse here, under your father’s eye. We could perhaps just go for a stroll, under the guise that you’re simply attending a play with friends, you’d be home in time for supper and he could hardly know!” Philip’s eyes gleamed with want. He wanted to talk to her like everything was normal. Why shouldn’t he be stubborn? He’d like to think he knows Theodosia by now--

“Hamilton, you speak to a Burr, you are _absurd!”_ Philip was promptly flicked upon the nose and he recoiled backward, not missing the hint of a repressed smile upon Theodosia’s lips, or the uncharacteristic colorful spice of her voice. It made something like butterflies erupt in Philip’s stomach. Or, well it would if Philip ever felt butterflies but he didn’t, not at all, that certainly wasn’t what he did, ever.

“I, ah,” he cleared his throat, “Guilty. Perhaps the café downtown, then?” he drawled innocently.

Theodosia huffed. 

“...We’ll see.” And then she was gone again despite Philip’s weak protests of _“wait up--!”_

Philip blinked. For a little while, he danced between his feet, barely knowing whether or not he had been dismissed. The idea of knocking again had started to become appealing when--

“I convinced him.”

And with such a light sentence hovering and settling into the air, Theodosia had strolled out the doorway. She shut the door behind her with a whisper behind slender fingers. Her gaze met Philip’s, twinkling with a subtle smirk. Philip breathed, “What?”

“I convinced him. Don’t make me regret it. Anyhow, the café?” She tilted her head towards the sidewalk like she attempted as small a feat as tying the shoelaces of her boot. But it was so weighty, such an achievement as _convincing that steely-faced adamant Mr. Burr to let his own daughter mingle with a rival family,_ that Philip could hardly breathe and comprehend it; much less the indication that Theodosia thought it necessary to do so.

“Sounds lovely!” Philip affirmed with a little too much enthusiasm, grinning widely at her while he matched her pace by her heel. Theodosia offered a light flutter of a smile in return.

* * *

Philip had to admit it was all quite worth it. Even if he was teased by Jack, even if he had to persuade his father every other day, even if he had to endure Mr. Burr’s disdainful glares.

“He still doesn’t trust you,” Theodosia had told him that night Burr finally allowed Philip into the house. “He just trusts me.”

And Philip still bristled at the insinuation. Familial relation aside it didn’t seem fair for Mr. Burr to control what happened to such a breathtakingly unique and independent lady like Theodosia. Without Eliza to reprimand him, though, it was Jack insisting that Philip keep his manners as to stay on their good side. Philip grudgingly complied; after all, he knew it would make Eliza feel more at ease, and lately he’d do anything to relieve his poor mother of her worries.

But it was also - just a little - so that he could still sit beside Theodosia at the piano every Sunday and learn to swim through their conversation as fluidly as a minnow through a stream. Every time, the mesmerizing spark in Theodosia’s eyes became just a little brighter, just a little more colorful. Everything became just a little easier.

* * *

So when, one day, Theodosia did not greet him at the door but Aaron Burr did, it was an understatement to say Philip was confused.

“Theodosia isn’t available right now. Come back later.” was all Burr said, curt and apathetic.

Philip shrank slightly under his gaze. Mr. Burr shouldn’t intimidate him so much, but this was Theodosia Burr in the matter - who Philip was largely expecting to greet him instead. Her father’s looming disapproval could easily mean the end of Philip’s visits.

“Apologies, sir, I’ll… return later.” Philip murmured, hesitating as the image of his cold, quiet home settled in his mind. “Do you-- do you have any idea when she’ll be available once more?”

“A few weeks.”

_A few weeks?!_

What could possibly make her gone for a few weeks?! And what could possibly make Philip Hamilton content with waiting that long?

“Good day.” Burr began to close the door.

“Wait!” Philip sputtered, brow furrowing. Burr glowered at him from the crack in the doorway. “Wh-where is she?”

_“Not available.”_ Burr said in what was almost a growl.

Philip shivered. Well, blast. Maybe Burr really had just decided he’d had enough of his daughter conversing with a Hamilton.

He was hardly ready to just give up like that, bristling at the thought of Burr’s potential manipulation over his daughter, so he opened his mouth to argue when--

“Father, is it Philip?”

Philip’s eyes widened at the distant voice, which made Burr sigh and call back “Yes.”

“Let him in, it’s okay. I’ll shoo him off when he’s done.”

Burr looked just about ready to argue, but he only shook his head and grudgingly complied, stepping quickly away from the door and leaving Philip standing there at the doorway. It made Philip realize just how stiff Mr. Burr's stride was, just how tired his eyes were.

He blinked. So, not manipulation. Okay.

Philip fidgeted at the doorway for a moment until Theodosia came to greet him giving a small smile. And for a few seconds, Philip could only watch her.

Because this was _not_ the Theodosia who he had sat down with to play piano, or the Theodosia who teased him relentlessly - this seemed more like the Theodosia in public: with all her walls up, her face in a strict fake smile, and every one of her movements tense and calculated.

Philip suddenly felt like he was a stranger. It planted a gut-wrenching loneliness within him.

“Come in.” she said simply, quietly. She led him inside. She closed the door.

Philip cleared his throat.

Theodosia whispered, “Sorry about my dad. We’re in a tough spot right now.” Her eyes drifted to a framed picture by the doorway.

“It’s okay.” Philip followed her gaze before she had the chance to jump and tear it away. He found her looking to a… family picture.

He suddenly felt his breath hitch.

“Theodosia--” Philip swallowed-- “did something happen?”

Theo turned to him. Her eyes were wide and glassy.

“My mother passed away.”

_Oh._

“H-how…” Philip breathed incredulously, unable to finish his sentence.

“The sickness overtook her a few days ago.”

“Shit…” he whispered, suddenly finding the room very small, “I-I’m so sorry...”

“It’s okay.”

“You guys must have been hit so hard--”

“It’s okay.”

“I-if you want me to go and leave you alone, I understand--”

“No, it’s okay.”

And that was what made Philip let his sentence trail off. He gazed at Theodosia through narrowed eyes. She was just standing there, hands clasped in front of her, watching him with a shadow of a smile and blank eyes.

She was collected, so collected, _uncaring,_ Philip might dare to say, if he didn’t know better.

He did know better, and it was starting to irritate him.

Why did Theodosia think she had to hide things from him? 

Philip stepped forward quietly, feeling a sudden urge to cup the girl’s cheek and take her hand, but he ignored it. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Theodosia only shrugged, looking away. Philip was about to speak again until suddenly Theodosia whispered, in a sudden show of weak sincerity, “Just… stay here…? For a little while?”

And oh _shit,_ Theodosia hadn’t even once uttered a plea like that to him, and if Philip wasn’t going to say yes right now then Hell had officially frozen over.

“At the risk of your father gutting me, I shall, but only because the fairest of ladies implored it.” Philip smiled gently at her. 

Theodosia huffed rolling her eyes. Philip relished in it though because of the barely noticeable flicker in such a gesture, the one that made him think _yes, now there’s the real Theodosia._

She began striding quietly past Philip, leaving him there befuddled, until she looked briefly over her shoulder to gesture towards the hallway with a tilt of her head. Philip couldn’t fight the goofy grin that spread on his face as he followed her.

He’d only seen Theodosia’s room a couple of times, when Theodosia allowed him to help with her studies. It’d never fail to amaze him; perhaps partially due to the size of it, Theodosia being an only child, but mostly because of its vast dissimilarity to Philip’s room.

Where his was a messy workspace, or a collage of old sheets and worn-out feelings, Theodosia’s was an elegant display - or a book that only had a cover. 

“Your room isn’t messy enough.” Philip commented oddly while he was watching her fling herself onto her back against her bedsheets.

“Should I apologize?” Theodosia responded quietly, within it a whisper of amusement.

“No…” Philip approached, cautiously weighing whether or not he was allowed to sit. Working with Theodosia usually didn’t involve any fretting over invasion of privacy, but right now Theodosia didn’t have anything to work on, and Philip had no clue what he was supposed to be doing. “But you should make this place more _you.”_

Theodosia propped herself up on her elbows, giving Philip a contemplative look that made his heart stutter briefly. “And what do you think is… _me?”_

“I-I’m still figuring that out.” Philip admitted sheepishly. At Theodosia’s raised eyebrow - a gesture that she made when she knew she was winning - Philip felt himself flare up and he said quickly, “But, I think it’d be burgundy.”

“Burgundy,” Theodosia echoed softly, questioningly, her eyes searching him carefully.

“Burgundy, with scented candles.” Philip clarified clearing his throat, and averting his gaze, and sitting next to her, “Lavender ones.”

At the corner of his eye, the edge of Theodosia’s mouth quirked slightly, before it faded and she laid back against the pillows again.

Silence fell over them; the kind that made Philip feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

He turned towards her, and swallowed before speaking, “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay, you know.”

Theodosia didn’t respond.

Philip dragged his feet up onto the bed sheets, scooting forward on his knuckles. All of Theodosia’s pale, immaculate room was faded away into the background behind herself. In Philip’s eyes, it was just Theodosia, laying there.

“What was she like?” Philip whispered.

Theodosia shoved herself back up, scooted against the back of the bed. Her eyes flared, but her fingers clenched, and her throat bobbed in gestures that Philip had come to recognize as _fear._

“Why would I tell you?”

Philip felt his fingers drift towards the hem of his own coat. “Because I’d listen,”

“That doesn’t mean I should talk,” Theodosia spoke softly, eyes wide, trembling underneath. “Anyone can listen.” 

“But I’m not _anyone._ I’m someone who’s _willing_ to.” Philip insisted, feeling himself press on driven by a steady flame of resolve. “Not to gain an advantage, not to use it against you. Why would I use anything against you like that?” His eyes drifted over Theodosia’s hands. 

Philip closed his eyes. Theodosia needed to know she could be comfortable. Philip wanted to be the one to make her comfortable.

“I... I don’t know, Philip.” Theodosia whispered. “Why would your father have an affair?”

Philip froze.

“You--” he swallowed. “It wasn’t very necessary for you to mention that...”

Theodosia twisted so her palms pressed stiff against the bedsheets and her gaze behind curly locks of hair bore into Philip. “My-- my point is,” she spoke steadily, “no matter the intentions, it is your family’s policy to survive. It is _my_ family’s policy for heaven’s sake. We act on impulse. My father didn’t take the Senate seat as a meticulously-planned _jest,_ Hamilton.”

Philip hardly knew how to protest, with every one of Theodosia’s words digging into his heart like daggers, wrenching into an ever-sparking fire.

He never thought Theodosia would get on his nerves.

She continued, “Why should I be vulnerable in front of you? Vulnerability gives the other side a weapon,” Theodosia was beginning to hiss through her teeth. “And we are on opposite sides, no matter how easy it is to accept that.”

“So here I am trying to lend comfort to my friend and you’re willing to shove a hand in my face because of the status of our families???” Philip snapped. “If your whole life revolves around _sides,_ well I suppose I’ll have to write off all the time we spent in personal conversation as nothing, huh? You’ve clearly done so already!”

“You’ll be the one writing off all the time we spent together when you betray me at the first sign your status may be in danger!” Theodosia’s voice was raising now, to a tone Philip had never heard her speak in. “That’s what _everyone_ does, Philip! Why do you think your stubbornness is going to get you anywhere with me? It’s the very thing that fuels a competitive world. So just quit it!”

Philip felt choked.

Before him, Theodosia swallowed, the panic seeping very slowly from her voice and her darkened eyes. She cleared her throat, looked away, and smoothed out her dress, standing.

And then a new voice: “I think you should go, Mr. Hamilton.”

Philip scrambled too quickly to his feet and whirled towards Mr. Burr in the doorway, knocking his heels against the bed frame. “What??”

“We prefer a quiet household.” Burr tilted his head towards the hallway.

Philip’s gaze shot towards Theodosia, wide and questioning, pleading, even, but Theodosia was not looking at him. She wrung her hands - guiltily? perhaps Philip imagined it - with eyes glued on the floor.

For a moment, that was all he could do, glancing between the two and choking down the whirlwind and the hurricane ravaging his thoughts. 

“...Well, fine, that is,” Philip managed in an unsteady voice, gritting his teeth, _“rather_ understandable, sir.”

And then he just left. Philip just grasped the edges of his coat, set his turbulent gaze on the hallway, avoided Mr. Burr and he just left.

Theodosia, caught in her own icy hailstorm of bristling pain, lifted her head to watch quietly as he walked away. At the corner of her vision her father spread his arms to beckon her forward.

Theodosia stumbled forward a step and then collapsed into Aaron’s embrace. Her father ran fingers through the messy cascading curls in her hair.

"I... I think I'm just scared, Father."

“I-I know, I know. It’s okay, love. Here, you’re... safe. We'll be okay.”

Theodosia knew dearly how he meant it; a part of her wanted to stay within her father's arms forever. The other part knew that this was hardly what her father needed right now.

She also knew, in the back of her mind, that feeling so bleak and drained here didn’t feel much like _safe._ Safe felt a little more like… like the sun’s rays over waves of water.

“I’m not sure he’d _really_ betray anyone,” Theodosia admitted to herself in a soft breaking voice; not for her father to hear, although he tilted his head inquisitively. "I'm not sure I should have said that."

“What do you mean?”

Theodosia breathed in quietly.

“Well, I have a feeling I… was not being quite fair,” Theodosia stepped back from the close embrace. She smiled weakly at him. “I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me, I-- I will be right back.”

She clutched her dress between her fingers like a lifeline, and then whisked down the hallway after Philip without waiting for a response.


	24. Don't Disappear On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of sentimental chatting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel weird not leaving more notes lately so here is one with a smiley face. :)

The ominous monochrome clouds looming over where Philip sat alone colored the vast sky in melancholy shades of regret. The storm had yet to arrive, Philip acknowledged drearily. Still, the turbulent grays felt like they were raging inside of his skull. The wind was digging shards of ice into his skin.

If he tugged his coat tighter around himself, it was almost serene - lovely, like wearing a coat in Autumn. But he was still alone.

Philip… knew he'd likely overstepped. It was not his business to pry into Theodosia's personal life during such a sensitive time.

But it wasn't his intention either. He just… he just wanted to comfort her. He knew the feeling that dug venomous and hollow into his throat when he was afraid of losing someone. The bitter _You're going to have to go aren't you? I don't wanna say goodbye to you._

Theodosia didn't deserve to feel that at all.

Philip gave a choked groan from where he slouched on the isolated bench. He ducked under the cover of quivering tree branches, and buried his face in his palms. 

His father didn't deserve to feel so trapped. His mother didn't deserve to feel so betrayed. His younger siblings didn't deserve to feel so lost. Jack didn't deserve to feel so lonely.

Philip wanted to make it better. He just wanted to make everything okay! God fucking damn it, what did it take?! Philip would hold the whole world at gunpoint just to ensure the safety of all the people he loved. But if just trying to talk to Theodosia didn't work, would that even be enough?

Would anything be enough?

"Hey…" the soft voice of his older friend jolted him out of his thoughts, wrapped itself like a blanket around Philip's warring conscience.

Philip felt the odd ghostly whisper of Jack's arm laid around his shoulders and he leaned into it gratefully, because it felt warmer than anything else right now. 

Jack raised an eyebrow at him; Philip met his gaze lazily with a defeated huff. "You're setting quite the record for dramatic moping." Jack commented slightly teasingly. 

"Perhaps… what of it?" Philip muttered breathily, heavily unwilling to put up any more of a fight.

Jack leaned forward. "I was going to say that I am glad. You certainly deserve some time for it."

Philip frowned. “Time to mope?” he clarified incredulously.

“Yes indeed,” Jack smiled gently, “you’ve taken a lot of responsibility on your shoulders lately, it doesn’t leave quite enough time for yourself does it?”

“That’s what I’m supposed to do, though,” Philip told him with quiet resolve. "Boys like me don't mope. I’m the Hamiltons’ eldest child. They’re all counting on me.” He looked down at the pavement.

“You make them proud every day.” Jack said.

“What’s it worth if nothing I try works…?”

“A great deal of it works, Philip, you just fail to see it because of how fast you’re moving.” his friend responded patiently, tilting his head back and fluttering his eyelids shut. “You might be able to see the blissful glee in how Angelica laughs nowadays, or the glimmer of hope in Eliza’s eyes whenever she witnesses, if you weren’t racing so fast to find someone else to offer comfort to next.”

Philip fell quiet for a few seconds. His gaze flicked tentatively up to Jack. “...How do you know this?”

Jack gave him a weak smile laden heavily with years of yearning. “It’s everything your father fails to see.”

“Oh,” was all he could say in return.

“I don’t think anything will ever be enough if you don’t allow it to be. You should find satisfaction in the small things,” Jack murmured distantly, reaching forward to brush a couple of strands of hair from Philip’s eyes. Philip recoiled and batted his hand away, earning a lightly amused smirk. Its warmth seemed to cast a dim halo in the otherwise melancholy air.

“That’s hardly what I have been taught.” Philip scoffed at him.

“Hardly what your _father_ has taught you.” Jack corrected him. “Your mother would think otherwise, I think.” He frowned as he scooted back flush against the bench. “Alexander’s insatiable nature is a weakness as much as it is a strength. I still worry about him. I don’t know what makes him so blind sometimes.”

Philip let the silence sink in generously. He swallowed, and turned to face forward, basking in the silver light cascading gently from the clouds. “Well, I imagine it’s rather difficult to see clearly when you’ve lost someone very important to you.”

Jack shot him an inquisitive glance. Philip didn’t meet his eyes, ducking his head and adding awkwardly “Sometimes I still see him glance at the letters, you know.”

Jack didn’t answer for a heartbeat, and Philip’s mouth felt dry, feeling he’d said something wrong. He was proven wrong quickly, though, when he saw Jack’s soft smile at the corner of his vision.

Philip hesitantly lifted up his head, and returned the gesture in full.

A new voice elegantly parted the silence and struck Philip’s heart. “Hamilton?”

Philip whirled around towards the voice. Behind him, Jack said quietly, “...take your chance. Be patient, Philip.” and then he was gone.

Philip's throat tightened. He found himself staring up at Theodosia.

* * *

“You… did not go far.” Theodosia commented first, quiet and unsure in the air, the words falling gently between nervously shuffling feet.

Anxiety, fear, uncertainty. The feelings were weaving their way tightly into her constricted lungs-- her _heart,_ which was so unfamiliar with this odd vulnerability she danced the border of. 

Theodosia was not used to forgiving. She was not used to saying sorry, either.

Philip hummed, dusting off his coat. “Well, I, ah--” he cleared his throat and brushed hair from his face-- “you asked me to stay, so… so, here I am.”

Theodosia allowed a weak smile - she must have just… ever-so-slightly _melted_ at this response. The crisp air enveloping the modest-looking boy in front of her made her feel quite differently from how she felt in her claustrophobic room with fiery crimson tainting her vision.

“You certainly don’t give up easily.” she murmured distantly.

Philip shook his head in humble acknowledgement. “No, not quite. Sometimes a weakness, evidently,” he added with an awkward huff of a laugh, one he used to struggle and thinly patch up the silence.

“Evidently,” Theodosia echoed. Philip’s laugh fell short, and, missing the color in the air, Theodosia reluctantly gave him a small smile and stepped forward neatly to sit beside him. Even with her head tilted back to take in the dreary sky, she knew Philip was staring at her in disbelief.

Philip stammered as he leaned forward, wringing his hands together, “Theodosia, I… I hope you’ll forgive me for pushing you. I-it wasn’t my place, I know that. I’m sorry.”

“You… must have had good intentions.” Theodosia mumbled in response, still refraining from making eye contact. She was afraid if she were to look him in the eye she may succumb to her soft still-raw heart and unravel completely.

“Yes, well,” Philip’s reserved hopefulness was echoed in his tone, “as much as I still struggle to know you, I knew you weren’t feeling like yourself. I-I like your confident side as much as you do.” 

Theodosia could not stop herself from smiling at the comment. _Confident side._ It wasn’t an act of rebellion, it wasn’t fake, it wasn’t a woman playing hard to get. She never realized how much she yearned to hear it acknowledged by him, acknowledged by _anyone,_ the way she endeavored to carry herself in the face of adversity and uncertainty.

Philip continued softly after a moment of silence. “You know, Theo, i-i-it’s the last of my intentions to abandon you, or betray you, or use you,” he whispered, “to even attempt such would be unspeakable. I still have a ways to go when it comes to, er-- correctly controlling my impulsivity, I know. But I’ll learn from my father’s mistakes, and I’ll take every measure that I can, and-- well, I-- I can assure you I'll never do such a thing if I can help it.”

Theodosia huffed. Her gaze drifted languidly over to her friend, sitting there with wide eyes brimming with a warm determination only a Hamilton’s eyes could hold. Philip was leaning forward - improperly, but undeniably endearingly - so that his arms rested, fingers intertwined, on his lap. At the eye contact, Philip cracked a tentative smile.

“Such a ridiculous prospect, anyway. Who should attempt to take advantage of someone like _Theodosia Burr?”_

Theodosia smirked as she held his gaze. “...Flattery may get you anywhere.”

Philip’s face fell with panic. “Oh, n-no, that’s not what I-- oh, shoot, I really went and--”

Theodosia hushed him gently with a finger. “I-I think a part of me knew, really, that you were speaking true.” she admitted, before looking away, “...it wasn’t quite right of me to lash out with such personal insults, but-- grief can do shameful things to a p-person’s composure...”

 _Stand strong, my love,_ her mother’s words echoed in her head, _this too shall pass._

The raging stormy hurricane of conflicted feelings caught up to Theodosia abruptly, silencing her words swiftly. Theodosia glued her eyes to the pavement and swallowed. Philip was quiet.

“I suppose,” her words were hardly audible, “i-if someone so close to you could just… _leave,_ just like that--” her voice, tight, breaking-- “isn’t it better to just avoid getting close in the first place?”

Theodosia bit her lip as she dimly registered Philip scooting closer slightly. 

“I-I, uh. I… sometimes I wonder about that too.” he muttered weakly. “When you have… really close friends. Family. Wh-who you’ve known for a very long time, and then, and then they could be gone just like that.”

Theodosia looked up at him. His eyes were averted, exploring nothingness somewhere off in the distance while his curly hair tentatively framed his face.

“But-- I decided I don’t really want to let the fear of all the _endings_ stop me from enjoying the _beginnings--_ you know…? I’ll be more mad at myself if I choose to let all these opportunities pass me by just because of that.” Philip gave her a side glance and an awkward - almost _shy_ \- lopsided grin. 

“I-- I guess what I’m saying is that maybe it’s just... a reason to enjoy it while it lasts. I didn’t... know your mother, and… and I don’t expect you to want to tell me about her right now or anything,” he added quickly, “but she sounds like she was… really important to you, and I’m sure she enjoyed her time with you more than anything, and she’d want you to enjoy the time you have now… even in her absence.”

Theodosia’s eyes darted from Philip to his hands. Her heart felt dangerously heavy.

 _What is there to fret over?_ her mother might say, _You are doing amazing, dear._

She let her eyelids flutter shut as she slumped defeatedly against Philip’s shoulder and gave a deep dreary sigh. 

She would not cry -- Theodosia would not cry -- but if the tips of her fingers drifted across Philip’s wrist, desperate for that sense of grounding, she didn’t care. Philip tensed under the movement.

“Fine.” she offered resolutely, “I forgive you.”

Philip sputtered. “Ah, well,” Theodosia heard the smile in his voice, “I-I should thank you for being so patient, I think.”

Theodosia nodded distantly. It took only a few moments for her to open her eyes though. She huffed and stood firmly, for as much as she knew she'd probably do good to open up a little more, contact still made her skin prickle with how vulnerable and foreign it was. 

“Don’t make me regret it.” she whispered, echoing old words, with a teasing flicker in her eye as she looked at him. A grin broke out across Philip’s face.

“I won’t, that’s a solemn swear.” Philip followed suit, standing stiffly and backing a couple steps down the pavement towards his sector of the town. “I’ll see you when I see you?”

“As long as you don’t disappear on me.” Theodosia responded. “Just… give me a while. I need… I think I just... you know.”

“Of course,” Philip turned to stride off and wave over his shoulder. “Goodbye Theodosia.”

“Farewell.” she called softly.

Theodosia watched his receding figure for a few moments.

She turned and began towards her own home, where her father likely still waited. _It will be harder now to convince him Philip can stay,_ she recognized grimly. 

She had a feeling, though, that she'd be more mad at herself if she chose to let this opportunity pass her by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATE for any who check in-- sorry it has been so long! Needed to take a break from things. At the end of this week I'll be back in the swing of things and uploading new chapters weekly, roughly. Feel free to remind me about it in the comments if you wish, it'll probably get me more motivated. :P


	25. The Crimson Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agghh, bit of a short and fast-paced chapter, I'll be updating this with more later but I just had to get something out. Sunday spontaneously crashed and burned on me, so finding time for this was an effort. I hope it still suffices!
> 
> Also, I would say I am sorry for the tension, but damn is it delicious to write :3

One random, fateful day, Philip stumbled across his friend Jack in his room, with his coat collar drawn up over his face. He was staring out dismally over the windowsill while the curtains fluttered around his frame.

“Jackie? Is something up?” Philip spoke curiously as he drew himself up next to his friend. Jack’s eyes were cloudy and distant in a way Philip had only seen a few times in his lifetime.

Jack tilted his head down at Philip. “Oh, hey Pip.”

“Don’t call me that Jack. What’s going on?”

“So you’ve already reserved the sole nickname privileges for your wife? She tied you around her fingers fast, that one,”

“She’s not my wife - not yet - and I can’t stop her giving me nicknames if I _tried_ for Christ’s sake, now tell me what’s going on!”

Jack gave in, turning his gaze back to the dreary world outside. “Nothing. Simply things on my mind.”

“Never a good thing when it comes to you.” Philip shouldered Jack pointedly; Jack scoffed playfully but didn’t look at him. The distance was starting to make Philip’s skin crawl.

“Time passes by terribly fast, even in the mortal realm.” Jack whispered suddenly, brushing strands of curled hair from his eyes. “It’s getting fuzzier.”

_Even in the mortal realm._ Terrifying, for what reason Philip couldn't articulate. “What?”

“Everything,” Jack said vaguely, waving his hand in an indecipherable gesture, “it starts to lose its color. It all feels a little less real.” Before Philip could inquire more on this, Jack turned from the window, ruffling his hair and speaking steadily “Don’t take the colors for granted while you can see them, alright?”

Philip didn’t shake the chill from this conversation for over a week.

* * *

On the path home, thunder crackled and buzzed like wasps in the air around Philip’s skull. It sparked off of his pale knuckles and the slits of his eyes and fizzled out on the pavement: some lit fuse, some forbidden flame, fanned by the stiff and vigorous strides of his feet.

Normally the Burr house like ice should quell Philip's occasional need to flare up like this - Theodosia was quite adept at smothering the spark with light quiet glances and repressed bubbly laughter. But alas Philip didn’t have that at the moment, nor had he had it for an arguably long while now.

_And maybe that’s a damn good thing!_ Philip’s irrational side barked, _Why should anyone stop me from giving pretentious pricks like Eacker the talking that they deserve?_

It was a primal tug at his heart, clenching it up and twisting it. Because no one should be allowed to speak out against Philip’s family like that. Like _George Eacker_ had.

Eacker's speech was a few weeks prior. He stood in front of a crowd on the Fourth of July, sneering under blindingly bright colors and cheers. Some while ago, truthfully, but at any reminder of it the man's absurd slander still made Philip's heart hiss. The missteps of his father lately had apparently been taken as fantastic opportunities to pounce - beat him down from his rightfully-attained chair with sour lies and accusations.

With even more certainty Philip knew that no one should be allowed to keep the Hamiltons’ eldest child from proving them wrong and defending his family as necessary!

To try and shut this voice up, drown it perhaps with the echo of Eliza’s or Jack’s or Theodosia’s voice in his conscience, Philip decided to take a fair portion of his anger out on the worn front door which he threw open by his fist.

But then Eliza’s quiet, heavy voice reached his ears, “Dear, please… try not to slam the door,”

The weight settled in Philip’s gut, a sickening result of betrayal, isolation, and exhaustion. The sympathy Philip felt for his mother might as well have been drowning him. He said nothing, but shut the door softer and drifted languidly towards the front room where Eliza sat watching the little ones tumble about on the rug.

“Anything from the study?” Philip chose to ask, soft but behind gritted teeth.

Eliza looked up at her son, shook her head wordlessly, and patted the seat next to her. “What is the matter?”

“People will say anything to rile up a crowd.” he responded with an agitated huff, obeying her beckon. He flung himself upon the cushioned chair with a thump. He just wanted the anger out. He just needed it out.

“So they will, as long as the earth continues to spin.” Eliza’s words came heavy. Her gaze drifted dismissively back forward.

Philip watched her. “You don’t perhaps need help with anything?”

Eliza smiled briefly at him. “Nothing for now, dear. Thank you, still.”

Philip sighed, guttural. The words that could once quench the fire in his head now only served to swim frenziedly as resent-filled thoughts.

_She doesn’t speak like she used to._

Philip leaned forward and rested his chin against his calloused hands. He puffed out his words, “I think I will head out this evening.” He didn’t know if Eliza heard the unspoken detail hidden under the sentence, _to the pub._

“As long as you stay safe,” Eliza responded in turn. 

Philip let his eyes flutter shut and let the storm in his head fester and rage like a silent scream.

* * *

John Laurens felt it all too keenly: the descent of a reddening sky.

* * *

The pub was _burning_ with the pungent scents of intoxicated frenzy. Philip loved it.

For a long while Philip’s whole evening had been swallowed by the dizzying colors of sunset, fire, and laughter. Jack’s voice was no more than a distant buzz at the very edge of his conscience, considering he had opted to stay at home. Therefore it only remained a thin barrier between Philip’s flaring eyes and the emptying glass bottles he clutched between his fingers.

“‘S absolute _bull!”_ he let the words roar from his mouth, punctuating it with the slam of his glass against the table. A chorus of barks and whoops followed his voice and made his lungs swell. “Since when do we sit by and let good-for-nothing bastards put words in our mouths?!”

Philip’s eyes darted wild across the students at his table; he let his teeth gleam in a boastful grin. His father may not have many allies nowadays, but Philip knew where to find them. Or perhaps make them.

But then his gaze landed on a familiar face. _Richard Price,_ the recognition flickered in his head, curious and welcoming. He was an odd one Philip had bumped into in boarding school, Philip dimly recalled; such similar souls of spontaneity but fierce loyalty were bound to fall into similar paths.

Either way, Price was currently beckoning Philip over with a finger, and Philip was in a tipsy daze anyway and high off the enthusiasm of his followers so he didn’t see any reason why not to obey.

Price had a sly ambitious gleam in his eye when he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Why not bring it to _him?”_

* * *

Jack remembered how it looked, too, when he could still feel the wind and see the crimson sky. With some fiery gleam of sly ambition in his eye, he had come to Alexander with the idea first: to take Alexander's place against that scoundrel, Lee.

_“I can’t disobey direct orders,”_ Alexander had told him with his voice wavering, _"no matter what Lee says to dishonor the General."_

Jack had grinned back. _“Then - shit - I’ll do it.”_

Jack didn’t entirely understand why, yet. He just knew he had to get to Philip.

* * *

“What do you mean?” Philip raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Price scoffed and gave him a look. “I know what you’re referring to with those strong words, Hamilton. And what’s better -” His teeth gleamed like fangs in an eager smile. “I hear from a few fair ladies Eacker’s seeing a play just a couple blocks downtown, in only an hour's time.”

Philip stared at his friend steady and stoic, hiding what was easily a smirk.

“So why not take it to him?” Price pressed further. "Make him regret it."

Philip reached silently for a glass, letting the thoughts swim dizzyingly in his head. Something tugged him back, whispered in a dim hardly audible protest, voices of a forgotten conscience. And as much as Philip wanted to believe he could follow such a sound, he also found his head drowned in the fiery resentment against those who should make his father lock himself away in his study every day, or against those who should make his mother close herself up more and more.

“I think you’ve a fine idea.” 

* * *

There was a sort of desperation in his eyes when Alexander uttered those words, _“you’re the closest friend I’ve got.”_

John and Alexander both knew those words hid a secret, heavily forbidden truth - grasped it tightly to protect it from the world.

But John wasn’t like Alexander - with a hungry heart and nothing to fall back on, Alexander had yet to establish his place. John, carrying the weight of his family name, believed he lived to die.

It was so odd. John never had the opportunity to realize the weight of his death until it was too late. Perhaps that was just how it was.

There was a reason he’d told Philip about the fading colors, John realized.

* * *

Price had accompanied Philip all the way to the theater, in the crisp night air where Philip’s intoxication gradually began to wear off. The stars were dizzying and the horizon was infinite, whispering _regret, regret._ But no amount of ominous air could have prevented this.

Philip was _seething._

Crimson view, stained by the snide figure before him. He wanted to wipe that stupid sneer off his face. Off his stupid fucking--

“Tomorrow. Six AM sharp.” he hissed, jabbing his index finger against Eacker’s neck. “Unless you’d like to get your ass up and go now.” He heard the whoop and holler from his friend behind him.

“Look at that, you’re a joker as well as a scoundrel.” Eacker’s eyes were dark in the shadow of the theater box. “We're both aware that you and your family hardly know how to put your money where your mouth is. Unless, perhaps, it’s on the matter of beating down your own reputation.”

“How about we head outside and we’ll test that theory, huh?!” Philip snarled, only met with a scoff when Eacker crossed his legs.

“Egh, yes, yes, piss off now, I’ll find your sorry ass tomorrow. I paid good money for this seat.”

Price’s voice echoed distantly in Philip’s burning ears, as if they stood underwater. “You better prepare for a second round facing me, too, Eacker. Don't be late.” His hand landed stoic and grounding on Philip’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

It was a few tense seconds hanging in the air - and then Philip obeyed. 

That was, he whirled around and stormed out of the box, skin prickling and a deafening ringing in his ears. With all those eyes on him watching, mocking, growling, and he just couldn’t fucking take it, this wasn’t _fair._

“Take it easy,” Price’s voice registered dimly in his consciousness, while Philip was flinging himself from the front doors and surrounding himself in the blast of cold air that buffeted him. “It will be surprising if he even bothers to show. We’ll show him what for, no?”

“Of course,” Philip muttered darkly. His eyes drifted to the starry night sky, hesitant but masked.

_A duel._

_I challenged him to a duel._

_I have never performed in a duel before._

The knowledge was festering in the back of his mind sourly. Philip hated to face it. But it was the truth - he could not do this alone.

“Head home, Price. I need to talk to my father.”

* * *

When Jack was making his way towards the front door in stiff purposeful strides he was promptly interrupted by his friend flinging it open of his own volition. 

“Philip?” he choked out with surprise as the boy stomped past him. With a jarring halt and a seething glance thrown his way, the tension drained ever-so-slightly from Philip’s shoulders.

He admitted, in that odd tone of his that bit back regret, “...I… may have done something.”

Something in Jack’s stomach plummeted. “What? What happened?”

“I… got angry at someone,” Philip went on tersely, turning on his heel to continue towards the hallway.

“You got angry at someone,” Jack echoed back. Such a humorously typical concept, _a Hamilton getting mad at someone,_ yet in this air Jack frankly couldn’t bring himself to tease at it.

“And…” His friend’s breath grew shallow. “I… sort of... may have challenged him to a duel.”

Jack froze and his blood ran icy cold.

_No._

_No no no no no I-I’m going to fail. I can’t fail. This was my only chance._

“Philip, are you serious?? You don’t even know what that means!” Jack hissed as his trembling steps carried him desperately on his friend’s trail. Philip forcefully shrugged off Jack's hand from his shoulder as Jack continued, “You don’t know what you’re putting on the line.”

“I-I know I don’t,” Philip was whispering through gritted teeth, fists tight by his sides. With his gaze trained on the far door, cold and unmoving, he muttered, “That’s why I’m going to ask my father about it.”

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?!” Jack pressed, words crackling off into the air on a thin wavering string of worry.

At the end of the hall, Philip turned to face Jack.

In his eyes, a dying ember flickered, devoid of the characteristic self-assurance that always guided the boy’s steps. “You have to understand, Jack... _please,”_ Philip insisted quietly, “I don’t-- I don’t know how to do this. No matter how much I reason, or fight, or sit my ass down and give them space, the people I love are hurting. I just need _something_ to be in my control. I need to take charge. I just need to do _something.”_

_Damn it,_ Jack thought helplessly, looking into the desperate torrential pits of Philip’s eyes which looked just too familiar. Just too much like tiny cruel mirrors. _God damn it._

“My father will understand that. So I’m just going to talk to him.” Philip told him, with a resolve built on broken pieces.

“Just… just--" John stepped forward, tentative and too unsure, "...be careful?” he insisted. “I know what I said about making friends to keep… but you’ve taught me a lot. And you are so much to the people around you. You can’t throw this away, Pip.”

Philip stood there wringing his hands, eyes wide with the glimmering sense of being... taken aback. 

“I--” He breathed in to collect himself, straightening. “I know.”

The boy smiled brief and fleeting at his friend, before turning to enter Alexander’s study.

The silence set in like a cold blanket.

Jack crept up and stood flush against the closed door, straining to hear the conversation taking place inside.

He knew if Alexander still withheld that same fire, the one in his eyes when he begged Jack to shoot, Philip could very well be in danger. That stricken dizzying feeling of knowing one had committed something irreversible was something Jack knew all too well. 

But backing down was hardly an option for the Hamiltons, and the only other one Philip had…

Well.

Jack closed his eyes.

_“He will not shoot, if he is truly a man of honor.”_ Alexander’s voice came strong and resonant over weak foundations that had taken Jack years to know how to detect.

_“But-- father--”_ Philip’s response was wavering as the whole world threatened to crush the boy.

_“Take my guns… be smart. Make me proud.”_

It was then Jack realized the mountain’s shadow was finally beginning to reach them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh. gotta love bombing psych tests. <<


End file.
